


La Lengua de la Luz

by spacesnail



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Bucky/OFC, F/M, Finger Sucking, Hurt/Comfort, I'm a ho for fingers?, Light Spanking, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, OFC Has Powers, Only gonna get filthier ;), Oral Sex, Riding, Romance, Sex in the ocean, Skinny Dipping, Smut, Starts Post-Avengers, Steve is Not a Virgin, The sex scenes are lowkey filthy, bucky as the winter soldier, definitely slow burn for Bucky, ignores everything after Civil War, kind of slow burn, latina character, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2020-03-09 23:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 85,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18927040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesnail/pseuds/spacesnail
Summary: Panama City, then Quito, then Barranquilla.Elena was elusive, infuriating, and Steve had absolutely no intention of falling for her. But then he did, and he doesn't know how to handle it.Once Bucky comes back, how will Steve balance his past with his present?





	1. El Mercado

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts shortly after The Avengers and will continue on to Winter Soldier/Civil War before becoming canon divergent. I will ignore everything after Civil War and perhaps parts of Civil War itself, who knows. Also this fic is in English but contains some Spanish language. I will provide translations in the end notes. I hope you like it!
> 
> Edit: Also I just wanted to let everyone know, I have this entire fic planned out and I'm giving a fair warning that Bucky won't really be in it until like chapter 10 or 11. The Bucky/Elena romance is 1000% slow burn whereas the Steve/Elena romance is more like 50% slow burn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is just trying to do his job. This girl and her yellow skirt and her arepas are kind of getting in the way of that.

The first time he saw her hadn’t been now, as they walked through the busy streets of Barranquilla, performing a subtle recon of the area after landing only hours ago. The city was big and they had so little to go off of. Steve had assigned Natasha and Clint to scope out the docks where some of the terrorist leaders lived while he and Rumlow surveyed the nearby marketplace, knowing the group’s base was somewhere along the coast and that members had frequently been spotted in the area. The other STRIKE agents were on standby, awaiting orders.

It was several months since the Battle of New York and they had the last month following a lead trying to track a South American terrorist organization called El Orden Sagrado. The group had bombed several cities in the United States, particularly border towns and some major southwestern cities such as Phoenix and San Diego.

Steve and the team had already tracked them down through Mexico City, Panama, Ecuador, Uruguay, and now Colombia. They were getting very little information about the organization, its members, and its activities. They still had not found any of the group’s members, and it seemed each time they found a base in one city, it was abandoned and the group moved to another country. It was getting frustrating and S.H.I.E.L.D. was about ready to pull them off the case.

The girl fit in so well there at that little stall in the market, molding dough for arepas and handing them off to a woman who fried them on the griddle in front of them. He wouldn’t have given her a second glance if it weren’t for how she met his eyes and held his stare, how the corner of her red lips quirked up as if she found him amusing. Something familiar sparked in his brain and he frowned, trying to remember where he knew her from.

It hit him then—Panama City. He’d seen her at the church during Sunday morning Mass, wearing a long navy dress and a long silver necklace, a pendant of a cross resting below her sternum. That morning he had gone to the church that one of the terrorist leaders frequented, trying to collect intel on them or their families. He hadn’t gotten much, but he had definitely seen her there, and had actually bumped into her when he was walking back to his seat after the Holy Communion.

“Lo siento,” he apologized to her, holding her steady as she stumbled. “Perdoname.”

She had looked up at him, brown eyes wide, her thick, untamed brows raising briefly in alarm. Her eyes softened at his apology, peachy pink lips turning up into a kind smile. She told him not to worry, then, “La paz sea contigo.” The words fell from her lips like skin on silk, her voice quiet, sweet, a little breathy. With a pat on his arm, she was gone, going up to the priest to receive communion.

He hadn’t been focused on her at the time, the exchange barely registering in his memory. Shortly afterwards he got called into a fire fight a few blocks from the church, some of the terrorist members having caught on to the number of spies in the vicinity. The fight had ended with one STRIKE member dead, a bomb thrown in their faces, and all of the members of El Orden escaping.

The arepas girl laughed at something the woman next to her said, her head thrown back in amusement. The trill of her giggle brought back another memory, and he realized he’d seen her in Quito, as well. This encounter was much more fleeting, but he knew it was her.

He and Rumlow had been exiting their hotel when he saw her walking their way on the sidewalk. She was laughing into her cell phone as she chatted with someone. She had been wearing a long red skirt and a white blouse that showed off her stomach and cleavage. If he wasn’t on duty as Captain America, he might have taken the time to appreciate this. He remembered turning to Rumlow to talk about the mission, only to see that his eyes were greedily taking in her appearance as she approached them. He had licked his lips, turning to get a look at her backside after she passed.

Steve had cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable with Rumlow’s ogling but more so agitated about the mission. Rumlow’s attention was redirected, an unashamed smirk on his face.

Steve was annoyed with himself that he hadn’t recognized her then. Now seeing her for the third time, he knew it couldn’t be a coincidence.

Rumlow meandered up to Steve from where he had been observing the other side of the marketplace. Steve’s eyes were still locked on the girl as she worked, her hands deftly stretching out dough into rounds for arepas. She worked so swiftly, slyly, it seemed she had done the action hundreds of times before. Steve wondered why she was there making arepas and what she had been doing in Quito, in Panama City.

“Does she look familiar to you?” Rumlow asked from behind Steve. Steve saw he was looking at the same girl. “I think we saw her in Quito. She had quite an ass on her.”

Steve ignored the comment, saying, “Yeah, I saw her in Panama City, too.” Steve took a quick picture of her and relayed it the team. The picture was clear enough, a snapshot of her face slightly downturned as she shaped another arepa with delicate hands. Into their comms, he asked, “Do any of you recognize this girl?”

After a short moment, Natasha said, “She looks familiar.”

“I saw that girl in Montevideo,” Clint said, “She was at the club that got raided.”

Natasha hummed, “I remember. She grabbed a gun off the floor and high-tailed it out of there once people started dropping.”

“She was in Quito and Panama City, too, now here.” Rumlow said. “We should take her in. Question her. She’s definitely got something to do with this.”

“I think you should tag her for now and keep tabs.” Natasha countered. Steve was about to agree with her when the girl walked around the counter, collected a few baskets of cooked arepas, and started walking past the crowd down through the market.

“She’s on the move, lets follow her.” Steve said lowly, his eyes on her as she maneuvered through the mass of people. He tried to keep track of her, of the yellow linen skirt and white blouse she was wearing, of the large baskets of arepas in her hands.

She hadn’t seemed to notice them at first as they approached her from behind. However, Rumlow shoved aside a woman who was in his way, and the woman yelled shrilly, “Hijueputa!”

This caught the attention of the girl, who glanced over her shoulder at the men and made eye contact with Steve. Suddenly, she was moving down the street at a much faster pace, zig-zagging through the people easily, like she’d practiced this.

“She saw us, she’s moving fast now,” Rumlow growled into the comms, “We’re advancing on her.”

“Do you need us to get over there?” Natasha asked.

“We’ll handle it for now. How far can the girl get?” Rumlow asked, a chuckle in his voice. Almost as if the girl could hear his words and took them as a challenge, she picked up her pace and turned a corner onto another street of the market.

Steve noticed the market seemed to get darker, despite the sun still shining in the cloudless sky. It was only 1600 hours, so the sun should not have been so low yet. It got harder to see her and she seemed to blend into the crowd more. The light played tricks on his eyes as the girl kept ducking behind people. Steve lost sight of her several times before finding her again farther and farther away, carrying her baskets. Her head was muddled amongst all of the dark-haired civilians, and before Steve knew what was happening, he couldn’t see her in the crowd at all.

“Where’d she go?” Steve asked, following Rumlow, “I lost her.”

“I can’t find her anymore,” Rumlow said, stopping suddenly. “I think she went into that shop.” He pointed to a small stall, her baskets of arepas sitting on the front counter. They ducked in behind the stall, startling the shopkeeper there. Rumlow immediately started looking for the girl, under the counters, in the back where the supplies were kept. He kicked a few bags of flour around to see if she was hiding in there. There was no sign of her aside from her baskets and arepas. Steve could smell the freshly cooked dough permeating the small space, along with a hint of something a little sweet, a little fruity, a little flowery.

Meanwhile, the shopkeeper, an old man with a long greying beard, started yelling at them in Spanish for them to get out of his stall. Steve held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. Beside him, Rumlow grumbled with a scowl on his face, restraining himself from pulling out his gun and aiming it at the man. Steve asked in Spanish where the girl who delivered the arepas went. The shopkeeper looked at him like he was crazy and shrugged, “No se.”

Rumlow rolled his eyes and asked if he could tell them anything about the girl. The shopkeeper was a little difficult to understand, his accent rough, foreign slang words littering his speech. However, from what Steve could gather, she had been delivering the arepas for the last few days. He had not seen her outside of the marketplace.

“Muchos gracias,” Steve thanked him before they took their leave. Into the comms, he said, “The girl got away, keep on the lookout for her. She was headed towards the docks.”

“Copy.” Natasha replied.

“Ask around, see if anyone knows who she is.” Rumlow ordered. Steve wasn’t sure if that was quite the best idea, considering they didn’t know who she was yet or who she was working for. There could be people from El Orden listening around, and this could alert them to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s presence in Barranquilla before they could make any progress. But they had absolutely no other leads and if they finished this night with another dead end, he would be to blame.

They asked around to the other shopkeepers for the rest of the evening, receiving very little information in return. Many of the market workers were already packing their stalls up and leaving for the night. Some others seemed reluctant to cooperate with Steve and Rumlow’s questioning.

However, they did manage to make some progress. They were told that her name was Elena. Nobody knew where she came from, and she had been working in the marketplace for about a week now. People thought she was a nice girl, and she helped people with whatever the shopkeepers needed, running errands, helping them clean, helping them carry crates of produce.

The older woman who made the arepas explained that she hired Elena the previous week, and that she only hired her because her usual business partner just had a baby. The woman said that Elena had gone to church the previous Sunday and would likely go again this week, at La Iglesia de Santo Domingo. Sunday would be the next day, which meant Steve had an early morning ahead of them to get to the Mass at 0800.

Steve had taken to going to church while in the different Latin American cities. He grew up Catholic. Although he thought the Irish Catholicism he grew up with would be far different from the Spanish-influenced Catholicism he saw here, he found that the Mass was very similar. He understood enough Spanish to follow along, and the communities were usually very welcoming to him. The men would shake his hand with strong grips, leveling him with intense stares, but ultimately smiling tightly at him in acceptance. Meanwhile, the women would give him hugs, then chat with their friends calling him _el hombre caliente_ , _guapo_ , and, one time in Mexico City, _el angel rubio_.

It actually comforted Steve to go to church regularly. It reminded him of his childhood, of going to church with his mother and making breakfast afterwards, of spending lazy Sundays with Bucky in the park, still in their church clothes.

“We’ve got new intel.” Clint said over the comms. “During this last week, Elena has been spotted occasionally by the docks, and someone said he saw her at a nightclub uptown, Rollo Discoteca. Nat and I are headed there now.”

Rumlow sent another shopkeeper on their way, and the shopkeeper walked quickly away from them, eager to end their conversation. “We’ll meet you there. Everyone seems squirrelly when we ask about her.” Rumlow grunted.

“We got the same reaction.” Natasha said. “Maybe they don’t want to deal with American officials. Maybe they’re protecting her.”

Rumlow and Steve started towards their parked SUV a few streets over. Steve mentioned, “Everyone we’ve talked to in every other city has been cooperative with us when we ask about El Orden. Even the citizens here have been willing to give over some information about them.” He didn’t mention how none of the information the citizens of Barranquilla have given them about El Orden has been that helpful. They were all giving them information they already knew—how the organization bombed some places in other countries, bombed a church in Medellin. The organization has been rumored to be dealing with weapons at the docks. No new information about El Orden has come to light until they noticed Elena.

Natasha caught on to what Steve was implying. “If they’re willing to give over information about El Orden, why won’t they talk to us about Elena? Perhaps she’s not one of the terrorists.”

Rumlow scoffed at that as they reached their vehicle. Steve climbed into the passenger seat while Rumlow started the car. “Of course she’s involved, she has to be. Why else would she have been in Ecuador and Panama and Uruguay? And now here? Explain that.”

Clint agreed, “Yeah, that can’t just be a coincidence.”

They drove through the streets and into a more upscale area of Barranquilla. The buildings in this area were tall, made of bright red bright, well-maintained patches of green space all along the streets. The area was busy, especially now with nightfall, but it wasn’t as busy as the marketplace. It wasn’t as loud, not as chaotic, not as filled with the bright colors of women’s’ skirts and fresh produce. The pedestrians in this area wore short dresses, designer blazers, sleek heels. They walked on the sidewalks in groups, heading for the nice clubs and restaurants in this area.

Rumlow pulled up to one of the smaller buildings, one with neon signs and flashing lights. A long line of people lined the street, and Natasha and Clint were waiting outside for them. Steve exited the car, immediately hearing the thumping of music from the club, Spanish rapping coming from the speakers. The singer’s words were so quick that Steve couldn’t begin to comprehend the lyrics, regardless of his proficiency in the Spanish language.

“Any sign of the girl?” Steve asked as he and Rumlow approached the other pair.

Natasha shook her head, “We haven’t seen her out here yet. Let’s go in.” Natasha got them into the club by whispering a few words to the bouncer, who smirked at her but then glowered at the men as they passed.

The club was dark aside from red and pink laser lights, a giant disco ball, and the green glow sticks that most of the people in the crowd were waving around. There were sitting areas on the second story, which overlooked the dancefloor and bar on the lower level.

“You guys go upstairs and look for her,” Steve ordered, “We’ll ask the bartender if they’ve seen her.” Rumlow and Steve waded through the thick crowd. It made Steve a little uncomfortable—he wasn’t used to being in such tight, crowded spaces. The atmosphere in the club was even more chaotic than in the market, and it set Steve’s on edge. The people dancing, constantly moving, yelling, singing. The heat inside the club as the mass of bodies increased the temperature along with the heady smell of sweat and alcohol sent Steve’s head spinning.

As they reached the bar, a girl pressed up against him, feeling his biceps through his shirt. She had blonde hair and her pupils were dilated wide, her words slurring as she asked him to dance with her, “!Ayyy, Papí, baila conmigo!” Before Steve could react, Rumlow sent her an annoyed glance and slightly pushed her back towards the dancefloor. She stumbled in her high heels but another man caught her.

“That girl’s high as a fuckin’ kite.” Rumlow muttered to Steve, pushing through to the bar. They were approached by the bartender after several minutes of trying to flag him down. The bartender, who was wearing a flamboyant purple shirt, asked them for their drink orders, ¿Qué les pongo para beber?”

Rumlow answered, “Nada,” and showed the bartender the picture on his phone. “¿Quién es esta mujer?”

The bartender seemed shocked, then suspicious. Steve noticed his eyes glance over their shoulders at the dancefloor. Steve subtly turned his body to the side and observed the mass of people writhing and moving against each other. He was nervous she might be dancing, because he didn’t want to go into that crowd. “¿Porque?” the bartender asked, looking between the two of them apprehensively.

“Cuéntenos sobre ella,” Steve demanded, using his Captain’s voice that seemed to strike obedience or fear into people. He wasn’t quite sure which.

The bartender looked at them both slyly, then turned to move away. Rumlow pulled some cash out of his pocket, flashing a wad of Colombian pesos at him. The bartender raised one eyebrow, now interested. He slid his hand across the bar for the money, but Rumlow pulled back, waiting expectantly for him to talk.

The bartender explained how the girl came into the bar every night for the past week. He said she would do shots of tequila, dance, and then leave with random people after a few hours.

Rumlow asked if any of the guys were in the club now, and the bartender answered no, but one of the girls she left with is down the bar. He pointed to a red headed girl flirting with the high blonde girl from earlier, long black nails running up and down the skin on her shoulder, mouth covered in black lipstick smirking and pouting as they spoke.

He heard Natasha in the microphone, “She’s not on the second floor.”

Steve was getting annoyed at how elusive this girl was. He was getting annoyed with this entire mission. He stormed over to the two girls at the end of the bar. When Rumlow pushed the blonde away again, she hissed, “Caremonda!” at him before storming off to the dancefloor again.

The redhead glared at Rumlow and asked with a heavy accent, “What the fuck, asshole?”

“You speak English?” Steve asked, a little shocked. They usually resorted to Spanish when speaking to locals here, and he usually did not expect any to speak English. She rolled her eyes at his comment.

Rumlow held his phone up to her like he did to the bartender. “Do you know this girl?”

The woman looked between them with heavy lids over blue eyes. Her black lips lifted into a smirk and she tapped her matching nails on the countertop. “Why do you want that girl?” she questioned them.

“That’s none of your damn business,” Rumlow growled at her.

She tilted a thin drawn-on eyebrow at him and reached for the phone. Her hand went past the device in his hand and her fingernails skittered up and down his forearm. “If you are asking me about her, then it is my business. Now tell me.”

“Are you her girlfriend or something?” Rumlow asked her, trying to draw more information out.”

She laughed heartily at that, pretending to wipe tears from her eyes. “You will have to tell me the real reason you want her. I imagine you are not simply looking for a good fuck.” She giggled at the blush that spread up Steve’s cheeks and said to him directly, “And I will tell you, she is an excellent fuck.”

Rumlow asked, “So you do know her?”

The redhead rolled her eyes. “Who the hell are you people? Do you take me for an amateur? What is that thing they say in your language? Amateur hour?” She laughed again, “English has the funniest sayings.”

“Steve!” Natasha said in the comms.

He barely heard her considering he was getting irrationally pissed off at this point. He grabbed her arm and growled, “Look, you better tell us where she is or we’re gonna take you in and question you, and you’re not gonna like it.”

Clint exclaimed into the mic. “She’s heading towards the back door!”

“Is that a threat, Captain?” she cooed. She was finding this all so amusing and Steve was infuriated. But then her eyes flitted to his side, across the bar, and he realized Elena had been spotted.

Steve turned his head to look at Elena, who was approaching the back of the club. Her hair was in a high ponytail and flowed pin straight down her back, a sheet of glistening onyx. She wore red lipstick, darker and more intimidating than the bright red she wore at the marketplace. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn earlier, and he wondered how they had missed her with the bright yellow fabric of her skirt. It wasn’t exactly what Steve thought of as appropriate clubwear, either.

He started towards her, dropping the redhead roughly back in her seat. Rumlow and Steve apprehended Elena, Natasha and Clint on their tail after jumping down onto the first floor. Steve ignored the shocked cries of the other clubgoers as they watched the commotion.

He managed to grab her hand right before she slipped out the door. She gasped; her head snapped back to look at him.

Then a bright, blinding light filled the room, and Steve had to let go of her hand to cover his burning eyes. He yelled out, feeling his eyes water and sting at the flash, and he heard some people yelling and gasping behind him.

When he could see again, he was on the ground and Rumlow was pulling him up, stumbling a bit himself. Steve’s eyes were blurry and he noticed Clint and Natasha both rubbing their eyes, too, as Rumlow pulled him out the door to follow her.

However, as they slipped into the alleyway behind the club, it was pitch black, the darkest black he had ever seen before, no moon or stars or streetlights illuminating the space. Steve knew it shouldn’t be this dark outside—the moon was full and there were plenty of streetlamps on this side of town. He couldn’t even see his own hand when he waved it right before his face.

They could hear Elena’s footsteps getting farther away as she ran, but somehow she did not run into anything in the darkness.

Rumlow cursed, and Steve heard him stumble forward and collide with something metal, perhaps trashcans. Steve took a hesitant step forward, reaching his arms out to guide him.

“What the hell?” Clint asked somewhere behind him, “Can you guys see anything?”

“Not a thing,” Natasha said, and Steve heard her click something on. “My flashlight won’t work.”

He heard Rumlow shuffle around right next to him, and then a flick. “My lighter’s not working either.”

Steve still had his arms out and turned in the direction of Rumlow. His hand connected with the lighter on accident, and he felt something burning his hand. “Ouch!” Steve hissed, pulling his hand away, “Well it burned me like it’s working!”

As soon as he spoke, they heard a car door slam. The screech of tires sounded on the street and a loud, rumbling engine took off, getting fainter. When the car door had shut, the darkness lifted, and the alleyway before them illuminated with the moon, the lamps, the beam of light from Natasha’s flashlight, and the glow of Rumlow’s lighter, the tall flame flickering softly.

Elena was nowhere to be seen.

Steve looked around. Rumlow stared in awe at his lighter, casting spindly shadows across his face, making him look all the more menacing. Natasha’s eyes were wide, her mouth open in shock, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Clint stalked down the alleyway, investigating the phenomenon. Shapes still danced in front of Steve’s vision from the mixture of blinding light and blinding darkness.

“So,” Steve said shortly, “We’re dealing with an enhanced.”

They proceeded to scope out the area and look back inside the club. The redhead was gone and the bartender called for the bouncer the next time they tried to ask him about the mysterious girls. There were no signs of anyone suspicious in the immediate area. The group looked around the city for several hours but came up empty and decided to retire to their hotel.

Steve returned to his hotel room, frustrated and angry at himself for losing track of her, not only once, but twice. He was confused about the girl, who she was, where she came from, and what her mission was. While it made sense that she was working with El Orden, many of the people they had questioned had indicated this was not the case. Although she was new in the community, she was helpful, despite being quite enigmatic.

His thoughts were wrapped up in the case as he got ready for bed. After Steve showered and pulled on clothes to sleep in, he looked outside at the city below through the open curtains of the window, wondering still about the girl. It was then that he realized that he hadn’t left the curtains open earlier that day, and he certainly hadn’t left the window unlocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La paz sea contigo - Peace be with you  
> Hijueputa - son of a bitch (more of a Colombian curse word as far as I am aware)  
> No se - I don't know  
> el hombre caliente, guapo, & el angel rubio - Hot man, handsome, and blond angel ;)  
> Baila conmigo - dance with me  
> Qué les pongo para beber - What can I get for you to drink  
> Quién es esta mujer - Who is this woman  
> Cuéntenos sobre ella - Tell us about her  
> Caramonda - Dick head


	2. The Mass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets the chance to talk to Elena a little bit. It doesn't go like he planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read this so far!!

Steve awoke early that morning after an uneasy sleep. Last night he had checked the entire hotel room but found no signs of intruders and nothing missing or out of place. He didn’t know what to make of the unlocked window, the open curtains, the faint fingerprints on the outside of the glass. He was on the sixth floor of the hotel, so he knew it couldn’t have been just any robber or thief. He’d alerted the others, whose rooms contained no signs of break-ins, and he had kept his shield nearby the entire night.

In the hotel room’s tiny kitchen, Steve prepared himself some coffee and ate a granola bar. Meals on the go during missions were not great for him, considering how often he was hungry, and he was usually unsatisfied at the end of most meals. One benefit of being in Colombia, though, was that even the hotels had great coffee.

Steve showered, put on a nice grey suit with a light blue button down, and made his way out of the hotel. It was an old hotel, likely from the 30’s or 40’s, and the elevator was out of service so he had to walk down six flights of stairs. He didn’t mind; he didn’t even break a sweat.

Natasha was waiting for him in the SUV to drive Steve to the church. He climbed into the passenger seat and she drove off. She glanced over at him, smirking, “You look nice in your Sunday best.” He smiled tightly at her. He wasn’t used to Natasha’s teasing yet. She continued in a more professional tone, “Do you really think this Elena girl is gonna be there? I mean she knows we’re after her by now. Logical thing to do is to get out of dodge before we catch her.”

“Might as well try. It’s the best we’ve gotten so far.”

“You shouldn’t have let that redheaded girl go last night. She’s the closest we’ve got to a lead now and I doubt they’ll be back at that club tonight.”

Steve didn’t say anything, he just looked out the window with a scowl. He had certainly thought about that last night, how he managed to let every single lead escape since they had been in Colombia. He was a little more than miffed that Natasha was bringing it up now.

It only took about twenty minutes before they were pulling up in front of the church. It was not the grandest church in Barranquilla, but it was tall with beautiful stained-glass windows, white towers, a giant brass bell in the bell tower. It was almost 0800, and families were filing into the church for the service.

“You sure you wanna stay out here?” he asked Natasha, one hand on the door handle.

She nodded, “I’m not exactly dressed for church. Besides, it was never really my thing. I’m gonna scope out the surrounding area.” That seemed like a good idea to Steve. Clint and Rumlow were already out surveying the port again.

He nodded and said, “If I see her, I’ll let you know.” Then Steve headed inside. He settled himself in the back row of the pews, smiling kindly to the people around him, trying not to draw too much attention to himself.

Steve spotted Elena immediately. She stood at the front of the church, shaking hands with the priest. He noticed she wore a bright red dress that stopped at her shins. It had buttons all down the front and a neckline that dipped low in a V to the middle of her sternum. With that dress and her heels and her full lips, Steve couldn’t help but think that she looked far too sinful to be in church, to step foot on any hallowed ground.

She smiled kindly at the priest, said something to him, and then sat down with him and waited for the mass to begin. Steve said lowly into the comm, “I’ve spotted her in here, wait for further instructions.”

“Copy that.”

The Mass began shortly. Steve could hardly pay attention to it, not only because the priest spoke in a somewhat muddled voice that made it difficult for Steve to hear the Spanish words he said, but also because he kept his eyes on Elena the entire time, waiting for her to make a move. He examined the possible exits—the big front door in the front of the church, and a door leading to the back room which most likely had an exit out the back. He’d have to move fast if she tried to leave, but she didn’t even seem to know he was there yet.

When it was time for Holy Communion, Steve did not go up to the priest. He wanted to make sure he could keep an eye on Elena. She approached the priest, received the body and blood of Christ. She turned around to go back to her seat, and her eyes fell on Steve in the back where he was watching her.

She didn’t seem surprised. She smirked and popped the communion cracker into her mouth, winking at him before she sat down. This confused him—why wasn’t she making a run for it? He couldn’t help but feel a little glad that she wasn’t trying to escape again. At the same time, he pressed down the feelings of temptation that arose from the way she looked at him through her eyelashes, eyes hooded, mouth turning up coquettishly.

They were in Mass after all.

Steve kept his eyes open, watching her, throughout the Prayer after Communion and the concluding prayers. He watched her throughout the procession of the priest and ministers out of the church, and then he snuck in to walk behind her as she exited. He wasn’t about to lose her again.

She went around the side of the church and sat at a bench there, surrounded by a small garden. The abundant bushes and trees weren’t in bloom, and it gave the illusion of a green wall boxing them in, blocking them off from the other churchgoers. He wondered if she planned this, picked this spot in order to have a more secluded conversation.

Elena crossed her legs daintily, looking up at him, her brown eyes wide, feigning innocence. She waited patiently for him to speak.

“Elena.” His voice was gruffer than he expected. It matched his mood.

“Captain.” She nodded at him cordially. “Well, good. Now it’s established that we know each other’s names.”

Steve restrained himself from saying that his name wasn’t Captain America, his name was Steve Rogers. He wished people understood that more, but now wasn’t the time.

Apparently, he had waited too long to speak, because as soon as he opened his mouth, she held up a hand and cut him off. “I am just going to say it,” she said, her light accent tilting her words a little, “You need to stop following me. I am not the one you’re after, nor do I have anything to do with El Orden Sagrado. So please, leave me alone.”

She stood up and began to leave, but Steve stepped in front of her, blocking her in. She narrowed her eyes at him and he said, “Sit. Now.”

Elena glowered at him obstinately. “I will not sit. I will give you two minutes.” She glanced at the brown leather watch on her wrist.

Steve grumbled, not pleased with her attitude. “If you’re not with El Orden, why are you here? And why were you in Quito and Panama City? Oh, and Montevideo?”

With a scoff, she said, “I am _from_ Montevideo. I did not realize I needed an explanation for being in my hometown.”

He didn’t respond, only raised his eyebrows, silently urging her to answer his other questions. When she only raised her eyebrows back and took a seat on the bench, he rolled his eyes, asking, “Are you following us?”

Her pink lips turned up into a smile and she laughed. “Following you? No. If anything, you are following us.”

She had started to rummage around in her purse, looking for something. “Us? Who’s us? El Orden?” Steve asked, trying to get any possible information out of her. He was trying to restrain himself, but his mind was running, frantic, urging him to do whatever it takes to get her to talk.

She looked up from her purse and leveled Steve with a glare. “No, I already told you I do not work with them. Do you not listen?”

“How am I supposed to believe anything you say?” Steve asked, crossing his arms. He didn’t like anything about this situation. How she was avoiding his questions, dancing around them like it was a game. The way she looked at him, alternating expressions of amusement and annoyance, like he was _bothering_ her.

She hummed as she looked in her bag again, finally pulling out a tube of lipstick and a silver compact mirror. “You don’t have to believe what I say if you don’t want to. It won’t matter either way.” She glanced at her watch again. “One minute left.”

Steve didn’t like her tone, the way she was being so standoffish. She clearly wasn’t going to answer any of his questions here, not now. He had to figure out a way to control the situation before she ran away again. He couldn’t lose another lead. “What can you tell me about El Orden?”

She seemed to mull over the question as she opened the mirror and the lipstick, swiping the bright red color onto her lower lip. “There is a lot I could tell you about them. Not that I’m really planning on telling you anything though.”

“And why not?” Steve’s blood was boiling. This mission had been the first big one he led and he was messing literally everything up.

Elena sighed as she applied the lipstick to the edges of her upper lip. She glanced up at him and quickly finished the lipstick job, swiping it below the swell and dip of her cupid’s bow and rubbing her lips together. After she closed the items and placed them in her purse, she stood and met his eyes.

“The United States has meddled enough in the political affairs of Latin American countries, don’t you think?”

Steve scoffed, “This isn’t colonialization or the U.S. establishing a new regime. This is us taking on a terrorist organization that has attacked our nation. Multiple times. And if you’re protecting that terrorist organization, you’re one of the enemies.”

“We are not protecting anyone!” she defended herself, “Listen, you have your U.S. government sending you out to look for El Orden. Sure, they’ve attacked a couple of your cities. They’ve made threats against the U.S. time and time again. You guys do not take terrorists lightly there. It’s been a couple of months since the first attack in Phoenix.” She sighed and looked at her hands, at her shiny red manicured nails. “But El Orden has been hurting people in Latin America for much longer than that. You and your agents and your nation have not seen what they have done to my country, and to Mexico, and Colombia, and Ecuador, and more.”

“We have heard plenty about it,” Steve argued, “We know all about the atrocities they’ve committed. We’re trying to get justice for everything they have done.”

“If you and your government come in and take them all in, extradite everyone to your country, then the only people who get justice is the United States. We are trying to do this by ourselves. We do not want Big Brother looking out for us, with your white man’s burden and your patronizing attitude. We just—” She sighed, something like exhaustion in her eyes. “We are trying to take care of this ourselves.”

Steve understood what he was saying—he was well caught up on U.S. and Latin American affairs. He knew it was a problem, but he didn’t think her point applied in this situation. The U.S. getting justice by putting the criminals of El Orden behind bars—likely in Guantanamo—would be the same as getting justice for the Latin American people harmed. U.S. involvement would also conveniently mean that fewer suspects would escape punishment.

“Here’s what you’re missing,” Steve said, “Most of the countries that they have committed crimes in do not have the legal infrastructure to get proper justice for their victims. The United States does. We have solid policies that will imprison them and make them pay. Not to mention that some of the politicians and law enforcement in these countries are so corrupt that the leaders of El Orden can easily bribe their way to freedom.”

Elena glared at him; her eyes filled with fire. “You should take a look at your own country before you speak about corruption here.”

Steve matched the ferocity of her expression, walking closer to her. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

She looked up at him; he was now directly in front of her. He was getting the feeling she might try to make her escape soon, as his minute was certainly up. Honey coated her tone as she said, “I will not be working with you, or S.H.I.E.L.D., or the United States government.”

“Who _are_ you working for?” he asked, his voice low. Her brown eyes glittered in the soft rays of sunlight shining through the trees. He could smell her shampoo, like mangoes and vanilla. It reminded him of the scent he smelled in the market stall yesterday, a lingering essence of her before she escaped.

“That’s classified, Captain.”

“How did you escape yesterday?”

She smirked, “Which time?”

He reached out to grab her as she turned out the lights. His vision went dark, but Steve was too quick for her, too strong. He managed to grab her by the shoulders before she could get away, squeezing her firmly and attempting to immobilize her.

It was still dark, the blackest void he had ever seen. Steve didn’t know how he would be able to get her to make it bright again, and he couldn’t risk losing her to the darkness if she managed to slip away and escape.

He spun her around and swiftly tugged her against his body, feeling around for her neck and putting her in a choke hold. With one forearm around her neck and the other around her waist, he pulled her against him tightly, his arms like iron bars against her. She clawed at him as he pressed his thick wrist against her throat, cutting off her air supply. Despite the burning feeling of her sharp nails in his skin, Steve didn’t let up until he felt her go slack against him.

When she slumped over, unconscious, the light around them flickered back on, like someone flipped a light switch on the sun. It almost hurt his eyes to see the sunlight again, and he shielded them with his hand as his vision adjusted. He collected her in his arms and decided it might look more suspicious if he were to toss her over his shoulder, instead opting to carry her bridal-style.

“Nat, I need you here, I’ve got Elena and we need to take her in private to question her,” Steve said into his comms.

“We’re around the corner, give me ten seconds.”

As he stood with Elena in his arms, he heard some of the older women from the church service rushing over asking what happened in worried tones. Steve gave them his nicest smile and explained how Elena was feeling sick and fainted, how he was going to take her to the hospital. They praised him for his gallantry, while the men looked onward suspiciously, knowingly. He rushed over to the SUV where Natasha was waiting with Rumlow in the passenger’s seat and Clint in the back.

“What did you do to her, Steve?” Natasha asked, exacerbation lining her tone.

Steve put her into the back seat, slumped against Clint, and got into the back next to her. “I had to incapacitate her so she wouldn’t pull any stunts like yesterday.” As he spoke, she started to stir slightly, and Steve held a hand at her throat in case he needed to choke her out again. “You got anything that can keep her asleep? We don’t need her waking up, turning out the lights, and causing a car crash.”

Rumlow dug through his bag and handed Steve a syringe. “That should keep her out for about a half hour.” Steve pulled out the cap and injected the substance into her upper arm. Elena stirred more as he punctured her skin, moving her arms and legs weakly against Clint and Steve as they held her in place. After a few seconds, she collapsed over against Steve, limp and unconscious.

“What did you guys find out? Anything new?” He tried to contain his hopeful tone.

As Natasha drove off, Rumlow answered, “Barton and I found some of the warehouses by the port where they keep their weapons. We’ve got the warrant to raid them, we just need to find the right time.”

“We put trackers on their boats in case they catch wind of our involvement and sail off,” Clint added.

Natasha said, “I got some IDs on a few of the lower members of the group. If we can get to them, it might be our key to the ringleader.”

Steve sighed, relief flooding through him. It seemed their luck was turning. “Great! That’s great news.”

Sarcasm thickened Rumlow’s tone when he added, “And now we got our own little terrorist hostage. Even better.” He glanced back at the girl, looking distastefully at the way she was slumped over, the sleeve of her red dress falling down her shoulder. “Jesus Christ, she wore that to church?”

“She said she’s not with El Orden,” Steve said, ignoring Rumlow as usual. “I don’t know whether to believe that.”

“Did she say who she _was_ with?” Natasha asked.

“Nope, she was evading all my questions.”

Rumlow said, “We take her back to the hotel, tie her up, and she’ll have to answer some questions eventually.”

Clint asked, “How do you think she makes it dark or light like that?”

Steve said, “I’m not sure, I’ve never seen this kind of ability.”

Natasha suggested, “Perhaps some kind of telekinetic manipulation of light particles?”

Steve thought that was a fairly scientific way of saying it was magic, but he didn’t voice this aloud. Throughout the rest of the drive, they discussed what they would ask her, the holes they still have to fill in the whole story, and what to do if she somehow escaped—again.

Once they pulled up to the hotel and parked, Steve pulled her out and carried her inside. Some of the hotel workers looked at them with suspicious eyes. Nat told them that she was Steve’s girlfriend (to which Steve blushed, of course), that she had too much to drink, that she could sleep it off upstairs. Never mind that it was not yet noon, certainly too early to be getting drunk.

Once they reached Steve’s hotel room, he got her seated in an old wooden chair while Natasha and Rumlow tied up her hands and feet. Clint looked through Elena’s purse to see if there was anything useful in there.

“Two fine knives, and—aw, look at this little gun!” He held up a tiny Smith & Wesson. It was one of the smallest guns Steve had ever seen.

“That’s kind of cute,” Natasha said, taking the gun and twirling it in her fingers.

“Anything else in there?” Steve asked, looking through the digital data files Natasha had on some of the El Orden lackeys. There wasn’t much, unfortunately.

“How much lipstick does a girl need?” Clint asked, tossing at least five tubes onto the table. He pulled out some receipts, a keychain, and her wallet. He looked through it for her ID card. He read, “Eleanora Maria Maldonado-Ortiz. 24 years old, from Uruguay. Explains why she was in Montevideo.”

“She got a passport in there?” Natasha asked.

Clint rummaged through the deep purse and finally pulled out the little booklet. He flipped through the pages and whistled. “She’s quite the traveler. Austria, South Korea, Nigeria, Iraq, Morocco, the Netherlands. Visa in the U.S.” He flipped through more pages, reading off the countries.

“One of our databases found her,” Rumlow said, searching for her on his laptop. “She went to UCLA for political science. Interned at the Consulate General of Uruguay. No information on her after that, and that was a couple years ago.”

“So what the hell is she doing here now?” Natasha asked.

Elena groaned and shifted slightly in the chair. Steve said, “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Here’s her phone,” Clint said, “Let’s see if we can open it—oh, she didn’t even have a passcode. Who just leaves their phone unlocked in this line of business? Rookie mistake.” After scrolling through her text messages, emails, and call log, however, he did not find anything out of the ordinary.

Rumlow kicked the leg of the chair and Elena jolted. She groaned again, squinting her eyes open. She looked around at the agents, confusion in her eyes. “What did you do to me? Where am I?” Her voice was low and raspy, and she cleared her throat. The lipstick she had applied before was now smudged from their handling of her, shadows of the color staining her chin.

“We have some questions for you,” Natasha said, “And we thought it might be better to do it in a more controlled environment, based on your little light show yesterday.”

Elena tried to sit up more as well as she could with her hands tied behind her. “Hmph… That’s not even the flashiest show I could put on for you.”

Rumlow was digging around in a duffle bag he had brought with him from the car. Steve knew it was full of tech and devices that could be used in espionage, along with some tools to torture people. Those devices usually made him a little uneasy.

 “Well you won’t be doing anything like that today,” Steve said, “You’re going to cooperate with us.” He used a tone that usually put people in their places, a tone that most people wouldn’t argue with or talk back to. Of course, why would have expected anything like that from her? He was quickly finding out how spirited she was, how she wasn’t like most of the people he dealt with in this line of work.

She rolled her eyes. “You choked me and drugged me, and now you have me tied up. You shouldn’t do that kind of thing to nice ladies.” Steve held back a scoff. From what he had seen, she was definitely not nice.

Rumlow chuckled darkly and walked over to her with a device that Steve had never seen him use before. He voiced Steve’s thoughts, “Sweetheart, we all know you’re anything but nice.”

“I am certainly nice to people who do not stalk me and then kidnap me. In fact, why shouldn’t I just burn your eyes out right now?” Elena asked, her voice  as the room slowly began to get brighter.

Rumlow was too quick for her. He slapped the device around her neck, and it formed the shape of a small collar. He snapped the hinges closed and latched it shut so it pressed tightly to her skin. Without hesitation, he pressed a button on a small remote control that he held in his hand. Elena cried out loudly from an electric shock coursing through her body, punctuated by a vibrating sound coming from the collar. It lasted about five seconds before the buzzing in the collar stopped, and Elena’s body slumped down in her chair, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. The room had gone back to its normal brightness.

Steve’s stomach turned. He had choked her in order to defend himself, of course, he wasn’t used to seeing women in such pain. On the other hand, he was glad Rumlow had shut her up. Although he was somewhat surprised to find himself thinking this, another part of him adamantly maintained that she deserved it, that she needed a reality check.

“You’re going to answer our questions,” Rumlow started, “Or you’ll get some more of that. And if you play with the lights anymore, I’m gonna leave it on until your brain is fried. Got it?”

Elena looked up at the ceiling, eyebrows crowded together, mouth open as she panted. She looked conflicted, pondering her situation. Finally, she looked around at them before fixing her eyes directly on Steve. “So we’re adding torture to the list now, too?”

He had to look away from her accusatory gaze. Truthfully, Steve didn’t like the way Rumlow would hurt the suspects they took in, inflicting as much pain as it took until they got the information they needed. It made him squirm, made him think of the prisoners of war he saw almost a century ago. Steve didn’t want to hurt people, and he certainly didn’t want to hurt the young woman tied to the chair in front of him—not really, at least. But he had to admit that Rumlow’s method usually got the intended results.

And sometimes, if the suspect was bad enough, made him angry enough, Steve might participate a little. It surely helped him get his frustration out, on the occasion.

Steve watched as Natasha moved past him, saw a glimpse of her in the mirror crouching before Elena. She spoke in a firm voice, “Look, we are not the bad guys here. I think you’re getting confused about that.”

“You said you’re not with El Orden,” Steve said and turned to look at her. “Then who are you with?”

When she didn’t answer right away, Rumlow shocked her again, and Steve noticed that he turned up the voltage. Elena tried to hold in her screams, only letting out a broken whimper right before Rumlow turned it off. She sat with her eyes closed tightly and her face had a slight sheen of sweat.

With a growl, Rumlow grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head up to look at him. She grimaced but still didn’t open her eyes. “Answer the damn question.”

Elena let out a heavy sigh and looked up at him, malice in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, “I’ll tell you. Let go of my damn hair.” Rumlow hesitated, but Steve nodded at him to do as she said and he complied. She continued, “I work with an organization put together to fight El Orden Sagrado. We’re trying to find their bases and eliminate them. We’ve succeeded in several cities including Quito, Montevideo, and La Paz.”

“La Paz?” Clint said, “They’re in Bolivia, too?”

She nodded, “Yes, while you guys were chasing fake leads into Mexico City or wherever, we were in La Paz. And then we were in Panama City but El Orden found out you were there after them and abandoned their base there.”

Steve was mad upon finding out they had spent a week and a half in Mexico City for no goddamn reason. He was irrationally angrier that she and the organization she worked with had kept a real lead in La Paz from them that entire time.

He didn’t know what it was. Something about her made his blood boil, made his skin crawl, made him feel sick in his stomach. The way she talked, coy and almost flirting, but keeping something from him, always hiding something. The red of her lips as she smirked, the light in her eyes as she toyed with them.

He crossed the room in two strides, settled in front of her, and gripped her chin tight between two fingers. Tilting her face up to look at him, he scowled at her, trying to impart his frustration and anger as she met his gaze. “Do you not get who we are? What we’re trying to do? We’re after the same enemy and you’re refusing to work with us. How is that difficult for you to understand?”

She looked at him almost petulantly. Her smile was sardonic and sick, and she said acridly, “Maybe it’s not your enemy to fight.”

Steve let go of her and snatched the remote out of Rumlow’s hands. He pressed the button to shock her and watched evenly she convulsed, screaming, gripping her hands together behind her and digging her nails into her palms. He let this round go for a little longer than before, finally letting up with a flick of his finger.

Okay, Steve thought, so he felt a little bad as we watched her gasp for air, a tear sliding down one cheek. But—God help him—the way she inflamed him, made his skin feel tight and his muscles tense. Not to mention how she was jeopardizing this mission with each minute she spent avoiding his questions.

“Look,” he spat, his teeth gritted, “You’re all alone right now with us. You don’t have anyone in your corner backing you up. It’s in your best interest to cooperate. Got it?”

Elena avoided his gaze, looking down at the ground so Steve could only see her eyelids. She nodded, but before Steve could continue with the interrogation, an explosion sounded somewhere in the city. Elena looked up towards the sound, alert, fear flooding her eyes. While everyone else looked out the window to see, Steve watched Elena, observing the only real emotion he had seen out of her so far.

Natasha rushed to the window and looked out. “A few blocks down at the port! We’ve gotta get there now!”

Steve broke his gaze from their hostage. They jumped into action, and as they were gathering their weapons, Elena said, “Untie me, I’ll go with you!”

Rumlow chuckled, “Not a chance. You’ll sabotage us the first chance you get. You’re staying where you are, wait for us to get back.”

“Please!” she cried, her voice cracking with desperation. They were already leaving at that point, though. Before closing the door behind him, Steve glanced back and met her eyes, wide with panic. She opened her mouth to make another plea, but he shut the door before she could say another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we get more of a glimpse into Elena's POV!


	3. El Puerto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain America is getting in the way of Elena's job, and so is her Catholic guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I basically overhauled most of the chapter I originally wrote and editing it was a pain. Also I don't have a beta but I do my best, please mind my mistakes. Thanks for reading!

Elena ran down the street, mixing in with the crowd as they ran away from the fighting at the docks behind them. Her wrists burned from the ropes that she had been tugging against for the past half hour. After breaking the back of the chair in order to get her hands in front of her, she had managed to get the ropes loose with her teeth and by pulling against them. Once she untied her ankles, she had grabbed her belongings and ran out of the hotel.

The church. She had to get back to the church. Her mission was incomplete; Captain America had interrupted her. Sure, she went to Mass because she tried to be a good Catholic, but in this case, there was more to it than that.

She had to get to the church to find intelligence that El Orden had hidden there. There was a mole inside El Orden who had reported that they stored a plethora of information at the church—because of course, who would suspect a church as a safe haven for a terrorist group? The irony was not lost on Elena.

Although she knew that she was needed at the docks where the explosions and fighting were happening, her mission to get the files hidden at the church was more important. She would have to make it quick in order to get to the docks and joint the fight. Her teammates would be there, and she needed to be able to help them out as soon as possible.

In front of her on the sidewalk, a young man ran out of his apartment building and started for a black BMW parked on the street. Elena didn’t like stealing, but she had to get over to the church somehow, and based on her knowledge of Barranquilla, she was definitely not in walking distance. So she ran for the man, throwing a punch and catching him off guard. He tried to fight back, grabbing at her hair and her left arm, but she threw her other hand across his eyes and blinded him, flaring brightness directly into his eyes.

He screamed a high-pitched scream; the kind of noise people make when they get flash burns on their sclera.

His keys dropped to the ground along with him and she scooped the keychain up, opened his car door, and shouted, “Lo siento!” to him before starting the car and driving off. As if apologizing would make any difference. Elena _really_ didn’t like stealing, and she _really_ tried to be a good Catholic, but it was becoming more and more difficult for her these days.

As she wove through the streets, ignoring traffic laws, her cell phone rang, the photo ID of a familiar redhead with black-stained lips. She answered, “Val, ¿qué pasa?”

Along with noises in the background that sounded like gunfire, Elena was greeted by the woman screaming at her in Spanish. Why had she disappeared after Mass? Where was she now? Why was she acting so nonchalant when the dock was under attack?

Elena had known Valeria for almost half a year now and she knew her friend would undoubtedly not like the news that America’s sweetheart and his buddies had kidnapped her. Instead of explaining the matter in full, Elena simply said that she got held up by Captain America, that she was going to the church now to find the intel they needed, and that she would be at the port as soon as possible to help.

“¡Apúrate!” Valeria shouted, “¡Necesitamos tu ayuda!”

The line went dead, and Elena pressed her foot on the gas even harder. She got to La Iglesia de Santo Domingo faster than she thought she would because she was going twice the speed limit.

After parking right next to the sedan she had taken to Mass earlier, she slipped out of the BMW and yanked open her own car door. There was no time to change out of her church dress, but she managed to slip a Kevlar vest over the top for a little bit of added protection. She grabbed the duffel bag in the back seat of her car and slipped on her gun and knife holsters before charging into the church.

Oddly enough, there weren’t as many people in the church as she expected, considering its size. Nowadays, it was less of a safe place for worshipers and more of a safe place for El Orden Sagrado. The terrorists had taken over the church about one month ago, using it for nefarious reasons.

Three cronies from El Orden met Elena in the chapel, knives and guns drawn to take her out. They were young, with sparse mustaches on their faces, barely able to grow facial hair yet. Darkening the lights so they couldn’t see, she slid her knife through one of the boys’ throats, put two bullets into the other boys’ heads. She wasn’t too good at the espionage required for being a spy, but she was skilled at fighting and even better at killing. That was why she had been recruited, after all.

The priest from this morning’s Mass—who she knew was not really a priest—charged her once she got into the basement of the church. She grappled with him for only a moment before she flashed him in the eyes and shot him dead.

She knew he wasn’t truly a man of the cloth. But he was lying there, in a black clerical shirt with the white collar, blood pooling under him, while she stood in the basement chapel. Votive candles flickered in the opposite corner, filling the dimly lit room with the faintest light. Well, it all added up. Elena couldn’t help but feel deeply ashamed. God’s presence chastened her, she could feel it on her skin as goosebumps rose, the hair on her arms standing on end.

Unsurprisingly, this was the first time she had killed someone in a church.

Wiping a few tears from her cheek, Elena sucked in a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. She would go to confession later, pray to be forgiven for her sins, relieved of her guilt. But for now, she had a mission.

A few file boxes sat on a table in front of the pews. One was open, some of the files askew, having been haphazardly shoved back into their places. The fake priest must have been going through the files before she arrived. She almost groaned at the abundance of files before her. None of them were labelled.

As she flicked through each file, trying to find what she was looking for, the explosions from down at the docks seemed to be getting louder. She was running out of time and she knew it. It was frustrating—they could read in detail every word of these files at a later time, once she brought them back. But first she had to find just _one_ thing that would ensure their success.

She needed the codes to their electronic server. That was her main objective today. The mole in El Orden that had advised her to get these codes in order to control the entirety of El Orden’s server, not just in Colombia, but in every nation they operated.

After about twenty or so files, her eyes skimmed a paper that held the codes to their weapons vault. Well, she just couldn’t help herself. She snapped a picture of it and sent it to Eduardo, along with coordinates to the weapons vault at the docks. Eduardo was the new leader of el Colectivo Latino, their ragtag group of Latin American vigilantes that had been fighting against El Orden for several months now.

Getting into El Orden’s weapons would definitely help them win the battle today. The rest of the files would help them win the war.

Fifty files later, she finally found the codes that would unlock the server. Valeria would still have to do a little hacking on her part, but this would help a lot. Elena folded the papers up and stuffed them in her pocket before stacking the boxes of files one on top of the other and hurrying out to her car. Tossing them unceremoniously in the trunk, she went back to the church to complete her mission.

As she spread lighter fluid throughout the basement and upper level, she felt another wave of shame come over her. When Valeria and Eduardo had explained this part to her, she had questioned their motives in anger, asking what kind of person burns down a church.

They had in turn explained how it would cover their tracks, how El Orden wouldn’t find out the files were missing this way. When she asked why it had to be her, they said she would be the most believable out of all the members of el Colectivo Latino. She could infiltrate the church the easiest. The priest—or fake priest, as it were—would never suspect anything was amiss.

Of course. Because she was a devout Catholic—or at least she was _supposed_ to be. What kind of devout Catholic willingly murders people and burns down churches, after all?

After starting the fire at the doors of the church, she hurried to her car and drove off towards the port, ready to help in the fight.

Fifteen minutes later, Elena shouldn’t have been surprised to find Captain America kicking ass on top of a luxury yacht, beating a man’s head in with his shield. And Elena wasn’t surprised, really, she was just a little tickled. A little annoyed, maybe.

The area around the docks had seen better days, to put it mildly. Chunks of the street were missing, crumbling asphalt all over the road and sidewalk. Many of the sailboats and other watercraft were on fire. There was fighting everywhere, not only el Colectivo Latino, but also an abundance of men in black uniforms who Elena assumed were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. The uniforms matched the dark-haired man who had been torturing her earlier—the one who had put the shock collar around her neck.

Uneasy at the memory, Elena pulled at the collar. It was still clamped tightly on her throat, even as she fiddled with the clasp, and it didn’t give. She would have to figure out how to remove it later.

Captain America had just sent two men flying into the water below and one man onto the street, right in front of Elena. Once he saw where his fallen enemy landed, and who he landed in front of, his face turned angry—as far as Elena could tell under his mask, at least. Figuring it was best to get out of his sight as soon as possible, she headed the other way towards one of the warehouses.

The Captain took a running jump and landed on solid ground, catching up to her quickly. Grabbing her arm, he whipped her around to face him, and he demanded, “What are you doing here? How did you escape?”

“I have my own mission, Captain,” she said to him evenly. He stared her down, his eyes unreadable. Elena slyly drew her gun and shot at a member of El Orden trying to sneak up behind them. The Captain hadn’t seemed to notice him coming, somehow, despite being having superpowers and being a super soldier and all that. She thought that was a little weird.

He looked behind him at the man who was just shot, then looked at Elena, some kind of appraising look in his eyes. She didn’t know, she didn’t take too long to look at his expression before pulling her gun on a cluster of men coming their way. He fought some of them with her, tossing his shield to knock several of them out and punching out several more.

Elena fought hand to hand combat with two men at once before managing to slide her knife into one of their sides, jumping onto the other’s shoulders to subdue him. With her thighs firmly planted on either side of his head, she squeezed in order to stop his thrashing and lodged her knife firmly into his throat. The squelching sound as the man gurgled and gasped for air was satisfying in the moment but she knew it would sicken her later.

More were coming, and Elena still had to find Valeria. Seeing that she was trying to leave, Captain America called to her, “You go, I got this!” She looked at him, a question in her eyes, but he urged her on. “Go do your mission!”

With that, Elena ran through the streets, trying to find Valeria and trying to find the warehouse that stored the weapons. She shot out enemies periodically, getting into short fist fights with some that usually ended in her blinding them or stabbing them or shooting them. She was almost out of bullets by now and had lost a few knives. On her way, she ran into Eduardo. Eduardo had a lot of muscle mass from being in the military. His skin was darker than Elena's and he kept his head shaved in a short crew-cut. and asked him if he had gotten into the weapons store yet.

“No!” he shouted, knocking out a man with his Glock, not hesitating before shooting him in the head. “You can go do it!”

He wanted her to go do it. Well, Elena supposed she could do that, but she was really truly bad at sneaking around. She was bad at keeping her cool. And she was really bad at knowing what to do next—and she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do once she got into that vault.

She spotted Valeria fighting back to back with the redheaded woman from earlier. The two red haired beauties looked good fighting together, Elena thought. She approached them, shooting out some of their opponents in the process, and noticed how the other spy did a double take upon realizing that Elena had escaped custody.

Elena ran out of bullets on her last gun, but before she could reload, the redheaded spy associate of Captain America was tossing her a gun, yelling, “Catch!”

She looked at the little Smith and Wesson that landed in her hands and realized she hadn’t noticed it missing from her purse. “This is _my_ gun!” She shot out two more men with it. The spy was smirking and she only shrugged before getting back to the fight at hand. She was truly an impressive combatant.

Valeria grabbed Elena by the arms once the opponents had been cleared from between them, “¿Encontraste los códigos?”

“Sí, vámonos,” Elena said urgently, tugging Valeria in the direction of the warehouses.  

Valeria didn’t ask questions about where Elena had been, but Elena could see the worry in her eyes as she took in her appearance, the rope burn on her wrists, the metal collar around her neck. “Yo mataré Captain America…” she spat as they ran towards the warehouses.

Elena had to laugh at that. She’d love to see Valeria go up against the Captain, but she couldn’t see it working out in her friend’s favor. “Hmm, buena suerte.”

As they went, they assisted some of the other team members in taking down enemies. Between el Colectivo Latino and the people from S.H.I.E.L.D., they were making quick work of El Orden. There were not many members left fighting against them. Some were trying to escape, but the two groups were doing well to prevent this, restraining and incapacitating as many of the terrorists as possible.

Maybe it was a decent idea for them to team up with S.H.I.E.L.D., after all, Elena thought. Maybe if she felt she could trust them more.

They reached the correct facility according to the coordinates. There were two men guarding it. Elena blinded them and stabbed one in the throat while Valeria knocked the other man out with her gun. The weapons vault connected to other warehouses with plenty of computers inside that Valeria could work from. Once Elena typed the code into the keypad on the heavy metal door, an image of a finger flashed.

“A fingerprint?” Elena asked in confusion. She hadn’t seen that in the files. A surge of panic rose in her—she didn’t know what to do now. Improvising on the spot wasn’t her strong suit—killing people was, despite the strong Catholic guilt she felt because of it.

From the top of the warehouse, a man jumped off and landed behind them. Elena turned and saw one of the men from before, the one with sandy brown hair and a quiver full of arrows who had been looking through her purse.

“What are you ladies up to?” he asked suspiciously, one arrow in hand at the ready.

“That is none of your business,” Elena stated simply.

“And who is this?” Valeria asked, one eyebrow raised in annoyance.

“They call me Hawkeye,” the man answered.

“One of the idiots who kidnapped me earlier,” Elena said simply, turning back to the lock. She had to figure something out. Why had Eduardo trusted her with this?

The man said, “It needs a fingerprint. We tried it earlier. Why are you trying to get in there?”

“Weapons,” Elena said simply.

Hawkeye eyed the men on the floor before hauling one up and putting his limp hand against the scanner. That, combined with the code, allowed the door to open for them.

What a simple and logical solution, Elena thought, and she berated herself for not figuring that out first.

Valeria and Elena slipped into the weapons vault, Hawkeye following behind them. There were huge masses of weapons, mostly explosives and guns, but also a tank, which Elena thought was overkill for El Orden. A large stash of different drugs was stacked against one of the walls. It included many blocks of cocaine and heroin, along with a pink colored substance wrapped into bricks that she had never seen before.

Elena took stock of the contents of the room, not knowing what to do from here. The fighting outside was almost over. They didn’t need the weapons today, but they could definitely steal them to be used in following fights.

Hawkeye and Valeria had gone to the next warehouse over. When the fight outside ended, several of Elena’s associates filed in. Mutters fell around the room as they took in the plethora of weapons. Some asked her where she had been, if she had gotten the files from the church.

There were only seven people left in their little group after their time in La Paz and today’s battle. More than two-thirds of their numbers had been taken down in La Paz, including most of their leadership. They were devising plans to recruit more members soon, but today’s events had taken precedence.

Eduardo approached her, asking, “Did you accomplish your mission?” His first language was English, being from San Diego, so they usually spoke together in English. Her first language was Spanish, of course, but she could speak English with the same level of proficiency, unless she was drunk.

She nodded, cheeks pale and stomach unsettled at the thought of the flames she saw in her rearview mirror, smoke starting to rise up from the church towers as she drove off. If she looked outside now, looked south, she would see a beacon of thick smoke billowing outwards with the wind. In a hushed voice she said, “I got all the file boxes, three of them. Hundreds of files.”

“We’ll need to see those files, ma’am.” The voice behind her startled her and she jumped, pressing a hand against her chest, against the tough Kevlar pressing tight against her sternum, suddenly suffocating.

It was Captain America, of course, standing there. When he pulled off his headgear she saw his face was red and his eyes narrowed at her. Elena couldn’t tell if he was angry at her or just worked up from the battle, the tension.

“So now you call me ‘ma’am’ after the little electroshock therapy you _gentlemen_ gave me earlier?” she sneered. He had helped her a little bit during battle, but she had by no means forgiven him. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed when she reprimanded him.

Eduardo was looking between Elena and the Captain with a mixture of confusion and excitement. Elena recognized it immediately—he was a fan of Captain America. Of course he was. He grew up in San Diego, and although his parents were both immigrants from Tijuana, being American was just as much a part of his identity as being Mexican. “Perks of being Chicano, you know?” he had mentioned once with a belly laugh.

“Eduardo,” she snapped at him, trying to get his attention. She wasn’t about to let the de facto leader of their little team fall at the feet of the guy who basically tortured her. When he looked at her, she said, “He kidnapped me after the Mass and took me to his hotel to get information out of me. And they put this _thing_ ,” she pulled at the collar with disgust, “on me and electrocuted me.”

Eduardo’s face fell. He seemed almost angry. Almost. More so, he looked sad, disappointed, dejected, crushed that Captain America might not be a good guy. It made Elena want to smack him.

Captain Rogers interjected before Eduardo or Elena could say anything else. “Listen, I think there’s a misunderstanding here,” he said, his voice serious. He gave a small charming smile. “We needed to know if Elena was a threat. And after seeing her during the fight today, I think we can definitely rule her and your team out as a threat to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Was that supposed to be an apology?” she asked him, eyebrows raised.

He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. The flush which had disappeared from his face now that they were not in the sun anymore suddenly reappeared. “I apologize.” He looked into her eyes when he said it. She stared back, somewhat shocked that his blue eyes seemed genuine. “I _am_ sorry. I really am sorry.”

“I…” Elena trailed off. When she didn’t say anything (what was she supposed to say?), Eduardo spoke up instead.

“I’m a big fan, Captain,” Eduardo interjected, stepping in front of Elena and shaking his hand. “Eduardo de la Vega. I’m kind of the leader of el Colectivo Latino.” He looked like a puppy dog with the way he was staring at the superhero. Elena wrinkled her nose at Eduardo.

“Steve Rogers,” the Captain introduced himself, “Pleased to meet you, son. Now, we have a lot to talk about. Your organization—el Colectivo Latino, is it?—has a lot of intel about El Orden, and it would be very helpful if you could share that with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Eduardo seemed caught off-guard, although Elena knew he was usually somewhat more collected than this. He wasn’t their leader initially, he only became their leader after Ynez and Ramón died in La Paz. Ynez and Ramón were the original founders of their little organization. Eduardo was one of the first people they recruited in San Diego, and Elena was one of the next members recruited from Santa Monica. Eduardo took over when they died, and he had been doing a decent job, but now he was star-struck, apparently.

“We will consider cooperating with you after you get this dog collar off of my neck,” Elena hissed. Captain Rogers conceded, bringing his hands to the latch in the front and unfastening it easily. His bare fingers brushed against her throat and she felt blood rising to her face—in anger, she convinced herself. “Why wouldn’t it unlatch for me earlier when I tried?”

“Only people with S.H.I.E.L.D. approved fingerprint IDs can take it off,” Captain Rogers answered, ignoring the flush on her cheeks. “Now, I’d like you to tell me more about your organization.”

A voice from behind Elena protested. “We are not _actually_ going to work with the American government, are we?” It was Carlos, a man recruited from Panama who was one of the biggest opponents to el Colectivo Latino joining up with S.H.I.E.L.D., which was something of a dividing point amongst their group.

Elena knew Carlos had actively sabotaged S.H.I.E.L.D.’s efforts to find leads, even feeding them the fake lead to Mexico City. She wasn’t planning on bringing that up now, though, not after how Captain Rogers had reacted when she mentioned it in the hotel room.

Eduardo seemed torn, and more of their group began to gather around them.

Marisol, a Bolivian immigrant who was recruited by Eduardo out of the US military, said, “The Bolivian government has made it clear they will help us to persecute the terrorists. We can do this on our own. S.H.I.E.L.D. will just take over the entire operation.”

Ximena, an Afro-latina activist who joined from Quito, disagreed. “Bolivia is one of the only nations to cooperate with our efforts. Do not forget how the police in Ecuador were actively fighting against us when we were in Quito.”

Their small group proceeded to argue with each other about the matter. Some members of the group didn’t trust the American government, didn’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D., and didn’t think they had the best interest of the people of Latin America in mind. Elena couldn’t disagree with that sentiment. On the other hand, teaming up with S.H.I.E.L.D. would almost guarantee that they would catch all the leaders of El Orden, that very few would escape, and that they would all get justice.

At least, that’s what Elena hoped.

“Hey!” Elena shouted to disrupt the fighting. “Eduardo is our leader! He will decide.”

Eduardo was about to give Steve an answer when Valeria called to Elena, “Elena, ven aquí!”

Elena brushed past Captain Rogers and went into the next room. The Captain followed her, much to Elena’s annoyance, while her team members continued to argue. Valeria sat in front of a computer monitor, Hawkeye bent over the desk beside her. Both stared intently at the screen in front of them, which showed a screen full of numbers and code.

Hawkeye spoke, “We’ve extracted most of the data from this system. We have it all on a hard drive.”

Valeria continued, “I am trying to take control of the interface.”

“How long before you can hack into it?” she asked Valeria.

“Twenty minutes, maybe.”

“Andale, Val,” Elena ordered, “Where’s the hard drive?”

Valeria held up a black hard drive in her hands, handing it carefully to Elena, glaring at Hawkeye while she did so.

Hawkeye glared back, then spoke to Captain Rogers. “She wouldn’t let me take the hard drive. Threatened me with a knife.”

“It’s not yours to take,” Valeria snapped, “We’ve decided already that we’re not sharing our intel.”

Elena gripped the hard drive in her hands. “I don’t know, I think Eduardo has some hero worship going on for Captain America so he might cave in.”

Captain Rogers narrowed his eyes slightly and spoke in a cool voice, “It would be in your best interest to cooperate with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Elena suppressed a shudder at his tone, so calm with an undertone of fury, anger aimed directly at her. She leaned close to Valeria and whispered, “I’m going to go put this with the files. Don’t let them give you any shit.”

As she turned to leave, Captain America stood in her way, saying, “Where do you think you’re going with that?”

She looked up, fire in her gaze. He didn’t seem to mind the heat as he stepped closer to block her. Their chests brushed together, Kevlar to Kevlar. In a low voice, Elena said, “You might want to get out of my way.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to hurt me?” His eyebrows shot up in amusement and he chuckled, “Might I remind you of the last time we got this close?”

“When you knocked me out, drugged me, and kidnapped me, you mean?”

Before he could answer, Eduardo was storming into the room. “Elena, stand down. I’ve made my decision. We’re going to work with them on a trial basis.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “Of course that’s what you decided.”

Valeria scoffed, her tone condescending when she said, “A trial basis? Really? You’ve got to be kidding me, querido.”

Eduardo walked towards the Captain and Elena. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she stepped back. Looking up at Captain Rogers, he said decisively, “We’ll rendezvous at a location of our choosing in an hour. You bring your team, I’ll bring mine, and we’ll bring all the information we have on El Orden. But we’re equals in this. We don’t want S.H.I.E.L.D. to take everything over.”

“That’s exactly what S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to do, Eduardo.” Elena was exasperated. She was sick of Captain America.

“We won’t,” Captain Rogers cut in, his tone assuring. He flashed that same strong, charming smile to Eduardo that seemed to make Eduardo’s knees weak. He swooned at the Avenger, gazing at him with a goofy smile.

“Are you seeing this?” Elena asked Valeria, pointing at Eduardo.

Valeria pretended to gag. “Disgusting.”

Tapping Eduardo’s shoulder with the hard drive, Elena brushed past him. “I’m gonna put this with the other stuff.”

“Clint, why don’t you accompany her?” the Captain suggested. Hawkeye was at Elena’s side at an instant.

Elena looked over her shoulder at Captain Rogers, sending him a small smirk. “Don’t trust me, Captain?”

He grinned right back at her. “Not at all.”

She walked several steps in front of Hawkeye the entire walk to her car several blocks down, a stony silence surrounding them. Once she arrived, she opened her trunk and tucked the hard drive into one of the file boxes.

“That’s not a very secure place to store intel,” Hawkeye said, gesturing to her trunk.

Elena slammed the trunk closed forcefully and was about to lay into Hawkeye with a scathing response but her words were cut off by a sound, a feeling, a vibrating of the ground. They both looked around for the source. Her eyes widened as she saw a shape rapidly approaching from the horizon across the ocean.

They saw it before they realized what it was, the burn of its engine sparking in the sky, lighting everything orange, heading directly for the ports before them. Elena’s body seemed to shut down in shock. She knew what was going to happen, could see its trajectory towards the warehouses, and she froze, her muscles stiff and heart beating so frantically she thought it would bruise her chest. Things seemed to be going so slowly in her mind, which felt stuck in thick mud.

Hawkeye pulled Elena behind her car and covered her with his body. She was like a rag doll at that point, not taking in any of her senses, not feeling the broken concrete beneath her cheek, not hearing the screams of the people around her as they ran from the incoming weapon.

Her ears rung with the deafeningly loud impact, explosions sounding from the distance. She felt the shock wave, massive vibrations coming towards them through the ground. It jarred her and the man above her, rattled her brain in her head. She hit her skull against the ground beneath her so hard that her vision went dark, made her feel dizzy, like the missile hit so hard that it threw the Earth off of its rotation. As Elena slipped into unconsciousness, she prayed to a god that had probably given up on her that her team made it out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> ¿qué pasa? - What's up?  
> ¡Apúrate! - hurry up!  
> ¡Necesitamos tu ayuda! - we need your help!  
> ¿Encontraste los códigos? - Did you find the codes?  
> Sí, vámonos - Yes, let's go  
> Yo mataré Captain America - I am going to kill Captain America  
> Buena suerte - Good luck
> 
> Let me know what you think of the Spanish dialogue in the story and providing translations in the notes! Speaking Spanish with certain people makes sense for Elena's character, and considering they are in South America, but I try not to include it too much so that it doesn't get confusing. I prefer to include the translations in the notes so it doesn't break up the flow of the story, but let me know what you guys think!


	4. The Safehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the safehouse, Elena and Steve regroup and Elena has a moment to process her feelings. Everyone's favorite billionaire arrives on the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got my wisdom teeth out and wrote a lot of this chapter while I was on my painkillers so if there are any mistakes, blame the opioids. I hope you enjoy!

Next, she was flying. No, Elena realized, not flying. Driving. She was in a car, the familiar hum of the engine and rumbling of tires on asphalt.

When she opened her eyes, it was dark outside. She lifted her head to look out the window and saw it was pitch black, no other cars, no streetlights. They must have been in the countryside. This was confirmed when she looked out the front window, seeing the headlights illuminating thick rainforest on either side of the road.

Elena was in the middle seat of the car’s back seat. She felt two large bodies on either side, but she couldn’t make out who they were in the dark.

“Where are you taking me?” she rasped, her voice weak. Her throat burned when she cleared it, and she could taste something grimy like dust and dirt and asphalt gritting against her teeth.

A woman answered from the driver’s seat. “We’re going east, planning on making it to a safehouse in Riohacha before taking off for Santo Domingo in a few days.” Her voice was stern, low. The man to Elena’s right stiffened, shifting in his seat, his large thigh brushing against her smaller one.

“What happened to my team?” Elena asked, “El Colectivo Latino?”

The man to her left sat up and cleared his throat. It was Hawkeye. He didn’t say anything, nor did anyone else in the car. She knew what they would have said.

Tears came to her eyes unexpectedly—well, maybe not unexpected considering the situation, considering the remaining members of her workforce died, leaving her as the sole survivor. But Elena felt too exhausted to weep. Every part of her body hurt, her head heavy. It strained her even further to cry, and she willed the tears to vanish. But they didn’t. They fell down her cheeks and onto her lap, and her nose and throat began to thicken.

She sniffled, wiping frantically at the tears on her face. Elena hated crying, hated the slimy feeling of hot tears trailing down her face and neck. It always left her feeling cold, exposed, disgusting. She hated the pounding in her brain, in her sinuses, behind her eyes.

The man to her right handed her something in the dark. “Here,” Captain Rogers murmured, pushing a soft cloth in her hand. A handkerchief. The gesture almost made Elena want to cry more, almost made her want to laugh.

Instead of doing either of those, she sniffed again, wiping her cheeks and nose with the soft silk. She willed herself to stop crying, tried to think of absolutely anything else. Nothing came to mind except the way her body shook with the explosion, her bones vibrating against the tarmac.

“You should try to get some sleep,” the woman in front said, “We still have a couple hours until we reach the safehouse.”

Elena did so willingly, hoping the gentle noises of the car would put her to sleep quickly like it usually did. She was a sucker for naps in the car. Closing her eyes, the heaviness of exhaustion filled her head and she nodded off almost immediately.

Steve looked at her as she slept, her head slowly drifting down until her chin hit her chest. He could see her despite the darkness of the car due to his enhanced vision. He noticed the way her hair was matted, how her face was covered in dust and dirt, how her lips pouted faintly as she succumbed to sleep. He could even see the tear tracks on her cheeks, still a little wet and barely glistening.

He felt very badly for how the day had gone. The explosion had been unexpected. Steve was in the warehouse when it happened. He was knocked unconscious but awoke amongst flames and the dead bodies of the members of el Colectivo Latino. He had no idea how he managed to survive—being invulnerable to missiles wasn’t on the list of benefits of the serum. He had quite a few scrapes and bruises, but those would likely be fully healed before they reached the safehouse.

The entire port was destroyed. Steve was luckily that nobody on his own team had died, but Elena had lost the entirety of hers.

And he didn’t even have the courage to tell her to her face that her team was gone.

He looked down, saw that she was still gripping his handkerchief tightly between her fingers.

Then he leaned his head against the window, tried to sleep but could only look at the thick jungle passing by. He was not sure if he was imagining the glowing eyes looking out at him from the underbrush.

 

Hours later, they arrived at a secluded cabin on the coastline shortly outside of Riohacha. The safehouse was provided by someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. Surrounded by the jungle on three sides and the ocean on the last, it was enclosed by a tall gate that Natasha bypassed with a passcode and iris scanner. She drove the car drove up the dirt path and parked, and Elena jolted awake.

Steve exited the car and offered Elena his hand to help her get out, which she took because she still felt a little dizzy from hitting her head earlier. She clutched the side of the car in order to steady herself once she stood. Noticing how she swayed on her feet, Steve stepped back but hovered nearby in case she fell.

While Rumlow went to unlock the front door, Clint pulled her duffel bag from the back and said, “We got your bag out of your car. The file boxes, too.”

“Thank you,” she croaked.

Natasha helped her through the front door while Clint and Steve carried in all of the luggage and boxes. The house was modest. There was a cozy front room with wooden accents and red and brown décor, a large stone fireplace on one wall. Steve flipped on some light switches, warm lighting filling the space. A kitchen was connected to the living room, and after he set down the bags and boxes on the kitchen table, Steve went to look in the cabinets. The house was well stocked with food, and he found a first aid kit under the sink.

Natasha helped Elena into the living room, sat her down on the brown leather couch, and looked her over. The Russian spy said, “Clint said you hit your head pretty hard. It doesn’t look like you broke any skin, but you’ve got what’s probably a decent concussion. Does your head hurt?”

Elena nodded, her mind feeling dull. She could barely think.

Steve came over with the first aid kit and a glass of water for her. He pulled out a packet of Tylenol, ripping it open and handing her the two little pills. Rarely did he play the role of doting nurse, but he felt he owed something to the girl who just lost so many people.

Natasha helped her to hold the glass steady when her grip proved to be weak. Elena slowly drank a few sips with the pills she swallowed, coming to her senses a little bit more. She looked to Natasha, asking, “What’s your name? I never…”

“Natasha Romanoff.” Her voice was much gentler now.

Elena turned to look at Steve, saying, “And you’re Captain America. Or do you prefer Captain Rogers?”

“I prefer Steve,” he answered.

She nodded as Clint came into the room. Clint said, “I’m Clint Barton, and that other guy is Brock Rumlow.”

“Where is Rumlow?” Steve asked.

“Setting up security protocols, checking in with the STRIKE team. In thirty minutes, we’ll debrief with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Elena’s mind felt foggy. She wasn’t really processing anything that the others were saying.

Natasha said, “Elena, you should try to get some sleep. We’ll be checking on you every few hours or so to make sure you’re okay. We don’t want to take any chances with that concussion.”

Elena didn’t say anything, only followed Natasha upstairs to a small bedroom with two twin beds. Natasha said they would sleep in this room together, and Elena put her duffel bag on the wood floor next to the bed. She laid down and fell asleep almost instantly, not even covering herself with the blankets. She slept dreamlessly, Natasha waking her up every so often to check on her concussion.

The last time Natasha woke her up, the sky was still dark. Natasha looked into Elena’s eyes and said, “Just checking on you again. Go back to sleep.”

Instead, Elena sat up. “What time is it?”

“Almost three in the morning,” Natasha answered, “You can still go back to sleep if you want.”

She shook her head, climbing out of bed and standing up. She was considerably less dizzy than earlier and rather well rested considering Natasha had woken her up so many times. “I don’t want to… I think I’d like to get cleaned up.”

Natasha said, “The bathroom is down the hallway. It’s fully stocked for whatever you might need.”

Elena found the bathroom, which was a little cramped but had a copper tub that looked rather inviting. She turned the water as hot as she possibly could and filled the tub. Once she got in, she began to rub the dirt away from her skin with a bar of soap and a washcloth, scrubbing furiously until her skin was red. She washed her hair with shampoo and conditioner she found in the cabinets.

Once she was done, she sat in the hot water, tears slipping silently down her cheeks for the friends she had lost.

She had only known Eduardo and Vanessa for about six months since she was recruited to the team, but in that time they became very close friends. Travelling and living together for six months will do that. They had become the only family she had, and now they were gone.

After all of the fighting Elena had seen in the last months, she had come to expect that she might lose her closest friends in the group. She came to be prepared for a time like this, when El Orden would take the people she was most attached to.

But she never expected to be the only surviving member. She wasn’t prepared for how it would hurt, like someone had stuffed her chest full of rocks.

Time passed; she didn’t know how long she sat and cried. By the time she got out of the tub, she felt like she didn’t have any more tears to give. Looking at herself in the mirror, eyes and nose red, lips swollen, she promised herself that she wouldn’t cry again until El Orden had fallen. She would put her emotions into a box, lock the box, and put it into the back of her mind.

She had done this after her grandmother died.

She had done this after El Orden killed her mother.

And she would do it now after the last people she could call her family were murdered.

Elena gathered herself. She put on the clothes she had gotten out of her duffel bag. She didn’t have much, only a few outfits for combat, a couple of dresses for church, and some skirts that helped her blend in with the Latin American crowds in the summer heat. Now she put on a dark tank top and the same red skirt she had worn too many times. She took some time to work through the knots in her hair before braiding it down her back.

Escaping the overheated steam-filled bathroom, Elena padded downstairs and into the kitchen. It was small. The cabinets were painted a yellow color that was now old and peeling. The appliances were old and outdated, but she managed to get the stove working with the help of a few matches.

She put water to boil on the stove in an old cast iron kettle. Next, she rooted around in the cupboards for something to eat. It was surprisingly well stocked, and she found enough to make scrambled eggs and toast.

After Elena fried the eggs in butter with tomato and onion like they often did in Colombia, she fried up the toast in the leftover butter. She found a small tin of tea leaves and added some to a little ceramic mug, along with the boiling water. She sat at the old kitchen table and ate her breakfast, drank her tea, and when she was done, Elena looked to the stack of file boxes at the end of the table that she had been trying very hard to ignore.

Well, she didn’t have anything else to do for now.

She started looking through the files again, starting with ones she had already found. After finding a pen in one of the kitchen drawers, she started to label the folders and stack them into piles based on topic. There were piles for personnel files, invoices, weapons deals, real estate across Latin America. Elena was surprised at how organized and expansive the organization was. More than that, she was shocked that they had found all this information in a church in Colombia. Part of her wondered if it was a setup, if this information was misleading, but then she remembered that some of these files helped them successfully break into the weapons vault and into the warehouse’s server.

She was so immersed in the intelligence before her that she didn’t notice when the sun started to rise, casting the house and land outside in a faint blue. She also didn’t hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Elena?” She jumped when Steve said her name, accidentally marking across the file folder with the pen. She looked over to Steve, who was walking into the kitchen. He still wore the clothes he slept in, grey sweatpants and a tight white t-shirt that stretched across his muscles. His hair stuck up in different directions, messy from sleep.

Steve wasn’t expecting to find anyone awake. Of the others on the team, he usually woke up the earliest as soon as light began to show outside. It was a remnant of his days in the army, but it tended to interrupt the nightmares he frequently had, so he figured it was good for that at least.

He had seen the warm kitchen light illuminating the lower level from the top of the stairs, but he wasn’t expecting to see Elena at the kitchen table, hundreds of files in front of her. He would ask her what that was all about but he desperately needed coffee first.

“Captain Rogers,” Elena exhaled, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. He could tell she was still wary of him from the way her body stiffened, the tension he felt between them. He understood, of course. He and Rumlow had definitely gone a little over the top, something that they had been lightly scolded for by S.H.I.E.L.D. the previous night when they were debriefing.

“Is there coffee?” he asked, eyeing the mug sat in front of her.

“I made tea, but there’s a coffee maker and I think I saw some coffee beans.”

Steve searched the cupboards and found a bag of Colombian coffee beans. “Is there a coffee grinder?” Steve asked. He knew his voice sounded rough, but he just needed some coffee.

Elena got up to look around the kitchen. “I am not sure; I didn’t see one. But there’s a mortar and pestle.”

“That’ll do, I guess.” Steve had never ground his own coffee before. “I usually don’t do this,” he admitted to Elena as he fumbled with the heavy stone mortar and pestle. She smiled kindly at him, turning to boil water to make another cup of tea.

“You usually get pre-ground beans, then?”

“Or instant coffee.”

She gasped in horror, putting a hand to her heart. “ _Instant coffee_? I feel sorry for your taste buds.”

He laughed as he made quick work of the coffee beans. “Hey, even today’s instant coffee is better than the stuff we had during the war.”

“Yeah?” she asked, filling the coffee maker with water for him. She suddenly sounded a little sad, regretful, pitying. It annoyed him. He hated when people felt sorry for him, the man out of time. It made him feel even more like his Smithsonian exhibit. “I bet you get a lot of people asking you about that time. What you miss, what you don’t.”

Steve nodded, pouring the grounds into the coffee maker and turning the machine on. He tried not to sound irate as he replied. “Yeah, I do. It’s always the same answers. There’s internet now, more technology. Human rights have come a long way. Medicine, less people dyin’. That’s all good stuff. But people are different now. Kind of colder. Everyone’s a stranger. I lost everyone I knew.”

She was leaning against the stove, observing him with wide brown eyes, pensive. By the look in her eyes, he could tell she felt sorry for him, but there was something else there, something he couldn’t place. He felt unexpectedly vulnerable under her gaze, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. It made him angry, for some odd reason. Clenching his jaw, he turned away so she couldn’t look at his face anymore.

“It must be difficult,” she said finally, turning back to the stove. Elena felt sympathy for him—she couldn’t begin to imagine how he felt, after all. But as soon as she looked at his face, the hard look in his eyes when he spoke about this time, the way they narrowed at her, she remembered the previous day. She recalled look of fury on his face when he grabbed her chin, the way he snarled at her, his cold expression when he shocked her.

They stayed in a tense silence as Steve’s coffee brewed. Once it was finished, he poured it into a ceramic mug and drank, relishing the taste of fine Colombian coffee, a groan escaping his lips before he could stop it.

“Better than instant, right?” she said to him over her shoulder, a hint of a smile on her face. The tension seemed to dissipate a little.

Steve chuckled, more at ease now that she wasn’t giving him that penetrating stare. “What did you find in those files?” he asked, his brain more awake now. He was glad for something to talk about with her to break the awkward silence between them.

With her tea now brewing, Elena sighed heavily and walked over to the table. She was nearly finished labeling all of the files. “There’s so much. Really, their entire operation is massive. I’m sure there’s even more on the hard drive. Part of me is wondering whether all of this is fake, if it’s a setup. It seems too easy.”

“We can verify if this information is correct by cross-referencing it will the hard drive. There will probably be even more information if we’re able to hack into their servers. The stuff in these boxes is probably just the tip of the iceberg,” Steve said, walking over to stand next to her. He looked over the files.

“Val was supposed to get into their computer systems,” Elena said, her throat suddenly feeling tight, “But…”

Steve looked at her, but she was looking down at one of the files in her hands. “We have a guy coming in to help us with this,” Steve told her, “When we debriefed with S.H.I.E.L.D. last night, they wanted to bring another person in who could help us finally finish this. They’re more than capable of taking control of their server. We’ll have all the information we need.”

Elena sat and continued labeling the folders, finishing up the last box. Steve took one of the files and tried to read it. His mind wandered, though, and he found himself watching her from across the kitchen, drinking his coffee and then pouring himself another cup when the first was gone. If she noticed him staring at her, she didn’t say anything.

Sounds of water running and people shuffling upstairs signaled that everyone was awake and getting ready for the day. When Natasha, Clint, and eventually Rumlow filed downstairs, Elena didn’t even look up. She didn’t stop flipping through the folders and papers, writing down the contents, until she was finished with the last box.

“What do you got there?” Clint asked her, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Natasha and Rumlow were both leaning against the kitchen counter, discussing the upcoming day, but they paused in their conversation to listen to Elena explain all of the information to Clint.

“Thanks for going through all that,” Natasha said when Elena finished, “How are you feeling this morning? How’s your head?”

“I feel better, thanks.” Elena opened her mouth to say something else but closed it. She frowned, and then asked, “Why am I here? Why did you take me with you?”

“Your team had a lot of intel about El Orden and you’re the last remaining person with that information. You’ll be of significant use to us,” Rumlow explained in a grumbling voice.

Natasha added, “S.H.I.E.L.D. suggested that we recruit you. We’d be glad to have you on the team.”

Rumlow grunted, “You’re a decent fighter. That, and your knowledge of El Orden and Latin America will make you a good asset.”

Steve wondered if she would decline, if she would prefer to not work with them in this capacity. Every time he had previously mentioned her and her team working together with S.H.I.E.L.D., she had rejected the idea. Would she have changed her mind now?

Elena stood and began packing the files back into the boxes methodically, neatly. Finally, she nodded, turned her eyes up to look at all of them in turn. Her eyes locked with Steve’s and she said, “Very well. What are we doing now?”

Natasha answered, “Tony Stark is coming to work with us. He’s a piece of work, but he has the brains and the connections to help us out with this. S.H.I.E.L.D. thought we’d be able to handle El Orden ourselves, but we were underestimating them. We didn’t realize how widely the organization was spread, how deeply it had taken root here.”

“Not that we had any intel to let us know either way,” Steve muttered under his breath.

Elena pretended not to have heard him. “Well, we have plenty of information now. From these files, they appear to have at least 15 bases spread across Latin America. If we could find out where that missile came from yesterday, we could have a good place to start.”

They spoke strategy for a short while longer before Steve went upstairs to get dressed. When Steve came back downstairs, a knock sounded at the door. Tony didn’t wait for anyone to answer and tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

“Rogers!” Tony said cheerfully when Steve opened the door. Tony brushed past Steve, who wasn’t entirely pleased to see Tony, but he figured it could have been worse. Tony sauntered into the kitchen with a small suitcase and several black garment bags. He greeted the other three agents and asked, “Where’re the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents staying?”

“They’ve gone back to D.C. but they’ll be on standby to fly out wherever we decide to go,” Rumlow answered. Elena noticed that Rumlow didn’t speak to her much, only greeting her with a nod that morning before engaging the others in conversation. Clint and Natasha were perfectly friendly, though.

“Well,” Tony said, “We should probably get the details figured out. You—” he turned to Elena, “I saw a few videos taken by bystanders of you fighting last night.”

Elena introduced herself, “Elena Maldonado.”

He shook her hand. “Tony Stark.”

“I know.”

Smirking, Tony continued, “I brought you a uniform. No more fighting in dresses. As impressive as it is, it’s a stupid idea.”

Her face reddened a little and she shrugged. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t exactly have time to change yesterday afternoon before the fight.” She didn’t add the reason for this—that Steve kidnapped her in the middle of her assignment and took her back for questioning.

One of the garment bags was thrust into her face. “Well regardless, I made you a uniform. Leather catsuit reinforced with Kevlar, plenty of gun and knife holsters. It’s inconspicuous enough for our purposes.”

Elena unzipped the bag and looked inside at the sleek black suit. It was slimming, not too chunky. “You know people don’t really wear things like this in the middle of summer in South America, right? It’s not inconspicuous for a place like this. If people saw me in this, they’d become immediately suspicious.”

“And you think it’s practical to fight in skirts and dresses?” Tony asked her, one eyebrow cocked in a challenge.

 “It’s worked just fine for me so far.”

Natasha cut in, “For now, we’ll just be doing recon. We don’t usually need uniforms for recon since we’re not fighting. But you’ll need the uniform once we make a solid plan to infiltrate the next base.”

“That’s the next order of business to move on to,” Steve jumped in, taking the familiar role of the leader. They gathered around the table where Elena had pulled out a few strategic files and Natasha had connected the hard drive to a laptop.

Steve explained the intelligence they had gathered so far. They knew the number of bases that El Orden was operating under, the types of weapons they had, the members of the group. There were invoices for drugs, weapons, explosives, technology. The group was surprisingly organized, sophisticated, and well-funded.

Natasha was saying, “So the missile yesterday was ordered from a compound in Santo Domingo. That seems like a logical place to go next.”

“It’s conveniently located, too,” Tony added, “And I own a condo there.”

“What countries do you _not_ own real estate in, Stark?” Clint asked, his arms crossed.

“I own real estate in countries that you’ve never even _heard_ of.”

Cutting off the banter, Elena said, “It would be prudent for us to figure out what their next move will be. If they have any terrorist attacks planned, and if so, who or where they will target. That needs to be our first priority—preventing any more attacks.”

“Our second priority should be figuring out who the leader is,” Steve continued, “We need to pinpoint as many members as we can and bug their technology. Tony, we’ll need you to hack into their server so we have access to all of their mainframe. Would you be able to get access to each server at each of their bases?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Tony said, “But yes, probably. I am me, after all.”

“That would help us tremendously with both of our objectives.”

Natasha said, “Once we get into Santo Domingo, we’ll do some undercover recon around their base, see who we find, observing their activities. We can plan the takedown of the base from there.”

Tony stood from where he was sat at the table. “Well, what are we waiting for? Quinjet’s out back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


	5. Costa Rica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve thinks about a lot of things, and he can't seem to get Elena off his mind. Not when she's looking at him like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having a lot of trouble writing this next chapter until I decided to skip over all the boring stuff, and that's how this chapter came to be what it is. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Taking out the rest of El Orden after Tony and Elena joined their team was surprisingly easy, what with Elena’s extensive intel about the group’s operations and Tony’s superior technology aiding them in recon and infiltration. Tony happened to have a shocking amount of shady contacts in the countries they passed through, which helped with the mission considerably.

After passing through Santo Domingo, Managua, Caracas, San Salvador, and San Juan in only two and a half weeks, they ended up in San Jose, Costa Rica, fighting off the last known sect of El Orden.

Once Tony had hacked into El Orden’s databases, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that the terrorist group had started in Central America and the Caribbean. After expanding their territory into Colombia and Ecuador, they tried to penetrate further into South America in Bolivia and Uruguay.

Considering their bases in these countries had already been taken out, all that was left was to jump around Central America until the spark of terrorism was eradicated. Along the way, the team successfully thwarted at least seven terrorist attacks and killed or captured countless members of El Orden Sagrado.

Now that the leaders had been extradited to the United States for prosecution, Tony insisted it was time to celebrate before they flew back to D.C. the next morning.

The team gathered at Tony’s beach house on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, a big glass mansion right on the water. His in-house chefs made a big spread of traditional Costa Rican food and a three-tiered tres leches cake, with most of the group getting drunk on beer and tequila shots.

Steve spent most of the night sitting in the background, talking to whoever came his way, waiting for the appropriate time to leave and go to bed. Everyone else was reliving the past few weeks that had passed in a whirlwind of activity—recon, fighting, and moving on to another city to do it all over again. There hadn’t been time to decompress or discuss anything that had happened, so the next day would be the official debriefing and Steve wanted to be fresh for that.

He caught snippets of moments between the others. Natasha mocking Tony for a blunder he had made with a group of weapons dealers in Managua. Rumlow discussing a particular fighting tactic with Clint that they had shared in Santo Domingo.

Now, Elena was sitting in the living room with Rumlow and Natasha, speaking about her past team—El Colectivo Latino—and how their work against El Orden compared to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. Interested, Steve listened in on this, moving closer to join the conversation. He leaned against the armchair Natasha sat on, facing the sectional where Rumlow and Elena were seated.

She was saying, “We knocked out a lot of men in Quito, but then the country’s police force started coming after us. Eduardo had to make this crappy makeshift bomb to combat them.”

“He _made_ his own bomb?” Rumlow snorted. Steve noticed Rumlow was fairly drunk, leaning in a little too close to hear Elena’s stories, but Elena didn’t seem to notice.

“It got to the point that we were using Molotov cocktails—it was ridiculous.”

“How were we not there for that?” Natasha asked gleefully, “Sounds like a blast.”

Elena shrugged, drinking from her beer bottle. She didn’t seem sloppy drunk, but she was definitely opening up more than she had in the past few weeks. “I don’t know where you lot were at, but it was really chaotic. We probably could’ve used you.”

Rumlow snapped his fingers, pointing at her, “Wait, we saw you in Quito! Remember, Rogers?”

Steve nodded, but Elena laughed almost mockingly before he could say anything. “No, _we_ saw _you_ in Quito. We were keeping tabs on you the entire time. Since Montevideo, really.”

“So it’s not a coincidence that we saw you near our hotel in Quito?” Steve asked, “Or in that church in Panama City?”

She smirked at him, using her thumb to rub off some of the red lipstick that had smudged on her lower lip. “No. Did you ever think it was a coincidence, though?”

“Once we saw you in Barranquilla, we knew it wasn’t,” Rumlow stated, a lewd grin of his own sent her way.

With a shake of her head, she said, “No, we were tracking you through Uruguay, Ecuador, Panama. You went to Mexico City to chase some fake leads, and thought we were rid of you but then you showed back up in Barranquilla.”

“ _You_ sent us to Mexico City?” Steve asked, a wave of frustration coming over him. He couldn’t help the feelings of anger towards her that they had not allowed S.H.I.E.L.D. to help earlier.

A sigh escaped her as she pursed her lips. “Carlos did. He really didn’t trust you guys. I regret not trying to stop him before. We went to La Paz while you were in Mexico, and…” Elena let out a shaky breath, took a long drink of beer. “Well, we could have used your help there, more than anything. Seventeen of our people died while we were in Bolivia.”

There was a far-away look in her eyes, unfocused, unseeing. He’d seen it before after the missions, after she had killed dozens of members of El Orden, after that bomb had blown up the rest of her team in Barranquilla.

He saw it once at their safehouse in San Juan. One late night, he walked into the living room when he thought everyone else was asleep. Elena had been kneeling at the coffee table, a wooden rosary clutched in her hands, fingers kneading the beads as she whispered, “Santa María, Madre de Dios…”

Steve had stopped in his tracks, entranced as she prayed, by the way her eyes were closed tight, the almost imperceptible movement of her lips as she chanted two more Hail Marys out. Her nose was red, lips swollen, cheeks shiny, and he could tell she’d been crying.

“…ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amen…”

Only when she moved on to say another prayer had he snapped out of it. Realizing he was trespassing on a personal moment, he moved as quietly as he could towards the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a wall, in order to give her some semblance of privacy.

“…Como era en el principio, ahora y siempre, por los siglos de los siglos. Amen…”

With his keen hearing, he could still hear her as she prayed in Spanish, but her words had been spoken quickly, easily, in her own Uruguayan accent. Although Steve knew enough Spanish to be successful on this mission—S.H.I.E.L.D. had made sure of his proficiency—he didn’t know enough to follow every word she said as she prayed the Rosary.

“…Santificado sea tu nombre. Venga tu reino, Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo…”

Still, he remembered when his own mother taught him to pray the Rosary as a child, remembered the way the black beads of his mother’s rosary felt between his tiny, weak fingers. The prayers were still stuck in his memory, word for word. The Hail Mary, the Glory Be, the Our Father.

“…Perdona nuestras ofensas, como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden. No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal…”

The rhythm of her voice as she spoke the prayers in Spanish was the same as Steve knew it in English. As Elena prayed that night, he could understand enough to know which of the prayers she prayed at any given time. Idly, he sipped a cup of tea in the kitchen, wondering what she was meditating on, what her mind pondered as her lips recited the words.

When her prayers stopped, he hadn’t realized it until she’d walked into the kitchen, eyes red but cheeks dry, that far-off look in her eyes again. She had looked at him blankly, exhausted. If she was surprised to see him, she hadn’t shown it.

“Thanks for not interrupting,” she had said, her voice hoarse. He only nodded once before she slipped away wordlessly back to bed.

Now, Steve saw the look in her eyes again as she spoke about El Colectivo Latino, and he wondered if she was thinking about their deaths when she prayed the Rosary.

Rumlow was asking her about the team’s tactics now, how they managed to get intel.

“They did a lot of the undercover stuff,” Elena was saying, “I was never really involved. I’m not that good at it. Valeria, though,” a small smile played on her face, her red lipstick faded, more sticking to the mouth of her beer bottle than to her lips. “That was always her thing. Valeria was a very convincing actress.”

Steve had noticed before that Elena was unsure of herself during the recon part of their missions. When undercover, or even when she was trying to go unseen, a fly on the wall, in order to get intel, she seemed anxious, uncertain. There were multiple instances where she missed details or misconstrued information because she was so tense. She had told them that she wasn’t good at that part, she wasn’t good at being the spy, the agent. When asked what she was good at, she had answered that she was good at killing.

This, he saw was true. The girl was little, but she could take down more guys than Steve could in as much time with just a knife and her fists. It helped that she could disorient the enemies with her light tricks, and that she was speedy enough to never get caught in anyone’s grasp.

When S.H.I.E.L.D. announced that they were considering bringing Elena on as an agent on a trial basis (and could Natasha please help to train her), Steve found himself wondering what it would be like to grapple with her in the gym, how they would stand against each other during a fighting exercise.

He wasn’t sure if he would train with her, though. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it.

Although all had been cleared up between them, he still harbored a little bit of resentment towards her for actively working against S.H.I.E.L.D. and being so infuriating those first few days. She was no longer so wary of him, and instead found new ways to annoy him each day. It usually wasn’t much, just little jabs at him, teasing him, sometimes flirting with him in that coquettish way she did.

Other times, though, he felt all of his bitterness for her vanish, suddenly, like writing in the sand being washed away by the tide. It happened during times when she would say something vulnerable, usually about the fight, her past, herself, her team. He would turn to her during these moments of clarity and see the sincerity written across her face. Sometimes he could see the insecurity she carried around about herself and her ability to do this job. When this happened, he found himself feeling such a sense of sympathy for her, along with something else, some other emotion he couldn’t place.

Then she would make some joke at him and his anger would return.

Elena and Natasha were laughing over something Elena had said about Valeria, something about how Valeria would seduce the members of El Orden into a frenzy. “She was quite the flirt,” Elena had that coy smile that lit a flame in Steve’s stomach. Rumlow sat back down, handing her a new beer. She had finished the other one rather quickly, Steve thought.

“She said you were good in bed,” Rumlow told Elena, eyeing her. He asked offhandedly, “Remember that, Rogers?”

Elena’s eyes darted between Steve and Rumlow, squinting at them. “What?” she asked with a laugh, “No she did not, she did not say that.”

Rumlow looked to Steve for backup. Steve’s face was getting red now, he was sure, as he remembered that night in the club. Valeria had looked at them with hooded eyes, black-painted lips smirking at the way Steve blushed when she informed them that the elusive girl they were searching for, the girl they now knew as Elena, was, in fact, an “excellent fuck”.

He hadn’t thought much about that little comment. But now, it burrowed itself into his brain, and he wondered if there was any truth in it. Briefly, he thought about what she might be like in bed. What kind of noises she would make, how soft her skin would be, how her lipstick might smear as they worked— _no_. Steve caught himself. _No. This was so_ _inappropriate_ , he had to remind himself.

Where did those thoughts even come from?

Based on how Elena’s face was getting flushed and the smile she was trying to keep off her lips, what Valeria said was true. “We may have…” she waved her hand around, not finishing her sentence. “Maybe a couple times.”

“You swing that way?” Rumlow slurred, eyes glazed over. Elena only shrugged, avoiding answering by taking a small sip of beer, keeping her lips to the mouth of the bottle. Rumlow pressed on, “Was she your girlfriend?” Elena shook her head. “Why not? Was she bad in bed?”

Elena only laughed, licking beer froth from her upper lip. “I mean, no, she was alright. But did you see how long her nails were? That’s just not sustainable if she wants to fuck girls.”

Rumlow howled in laughter, and Natasha was smirking into her drink.

Steve understood what she was referencing, he was no prude. But Elena’s confession felt different to him considering he was the only sober one—and considering that he would have to work with her for the foreseeable future. He decided to exit the conversation before he heard anything else that he didn’t want to hear. As he walked away, he could still hear Elena saying, “I told her that she’d have to cut her nails before she clawed off the inside of my pussy.”

He nearly choked.

It was getting late, and Steve was tired. He didn’t exactly want to go to bed with the party still raging on, figuring the noise would keep him up. Instead, he slipped outside and walked onto the beach, sitting in the sand with a bottle of beer.

At first, he could only think of the conversation from inside. Images conjured by his wanton brain showed Elena and Valeria, kissing, rubbing against each other. Red-painted lips meeting black, lipstick smearing messily. Hands and fingers sliding along smooth stomachs and full hips and slipping between lean legs.

Steve shut his eyes tightly, clenching his hands into fists, willing himself to _not think of Elena this way_. He had no idea why he was thinking of her all of a sudden. Sure, she was pretty, but he didn’t have time for dating, and he didn’t want to just fuck her if he was going to be working with her. Since getting out of the ice, Steve had had a couple quick, meaningless one-night-stands, just to relieve his urges, but he would never do so with anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D.

Not to mention that Elena could be _so_ _annoying_ sometimes.

After some deep breaths, he counted to ten and opened his eyes, seeing the waves crashing in front of him, foamy and frothing. He willed himself to focus on his surroundings, which calmed him down successfully.

Then he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the beach before this trip. Once he came out of the ice, he spent so long trying to acclimate to New York, trying to get used to the city again. Everything was taller and bigger, more crowded, louder.

Then the Battle of New York happened, and ever since then, he had been working with S.H.I.E.L.D., going on mission after mission. It kept him busy, and although the job allowed him to travel to wherever he was needed, it didn’t allow for leisure time at the various international destinations.

Briefly, he wondered when he would get a vacation, but then he reminded himself that he didn’t _want_ a vacation. Working so much was good for him. It kept him out of his head, made him feel less out of place in the 21st Century. It allowed him to focus on one singular mission instead of dwelling on all that he had lost, how lost he was, himself.

Finishing his beer, he allowed himself a moment to think of Bucky. His dreams frequently consisted of his longtime partner. On bad nights, he dreamt of Bucky falling from the train, of Bucky dying a million different ways during the war. He dreamt of his old friend Bucky living in this new day and age, hating every moment of it, hating who Steve had become.

On good nights, he dreamt of his life with his best friend in Brooklyn, their childhood, the years they spent together before the war.

He remembered waking up with Bucky on mornings that neither of them had to work, lying in bed together and willing the world outside away. Soft hands brushing over each other’s skin, dust motes dancing in the pale rays of light streaming in from the dirty window. Ticklish brushes of Bucky’s hands on his sides, his back, his hips, and the way Bucky used to hold him so tenderly.

Sometimes he dreamt of the nights stolen away in their tents, after Steve got the serum. Bucky let Steve be in charge then, and they let out their frustrations at the war, culminating in passion and hunger, a burning desire that was not only fueled by the fighting, but by the years they spent without each other, by the society around them that rejected their love.

Steve would have to clamp his hand over Bucky’s mouth so nobody would hear how much Bucky loved Steve’s hands on him, roughing him up. The filth that Steve would whisper into his ear didn’t help matters, but it always made Bucky go wild.

“Not enjoying the party?”

He hadn’t realized how deeply he had gotten lost in his thoughts. Elena was sauntering up to him from the house, barefoot, her hips swaying in that long red skirt of hers. She held a half-empty water bottle in her hand.

Her question went unanswered as she sat down next to him, sinking her feet deep into the sand. “I always loved the beach growing up. Especially at night.”

He hummed but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have anything to say, although he did wonder why she came out here.

Elena drank the rest of the water in her bottle and asked, “You don’t get drunk, do you?” He looked at her as she leaned back, burying her hands behind her in the sand. Her head was thrown back, hair dangling down onto the ground, her neck and décolletage exposed to the moonlight.

“No,” he answered, “I just drink it for the taste nowadays.”

Her eyes were closed, but her nose and eyebrows scrunched up at his answer. “Beer is not something you drink for the taste. Not this beer, at least.”

“You seemed to enjoy it. You had quite a lot of it,” he pointed out. However, he didn’t have much to back that up. It’s not as if he was keeping track, nor did she seem particularly drunk.

“I’ve had like, four bottles. That’s hardly a lot.”

“It is for someone your size.”

When she opened her eyes, her irises looked almost black in the dark, but then she rolled her eyes and the moonlight caught them, showing their color. “Are you calling me little?”

Steve huffed a laugh, raising his eyebrows at the question. Rather than being annoyed at her attitude like he might usually be, he found himself amused. “Yeah, I’m callin’ you little. What are you, four feet tall?”

She scoffed, “I am every inch of 5’3”, thank you.”

“There are middle schoolers taller than you.”

Her jaw dropped, and he turned his face away so she wouldn’t see his grin. “Well, I can hold my liquor better than most middle schoolers, trust me.”

He laughed at how indignant she was. After a moment of quiet between them, he asked, “Why’d you come out here?”

“It’s really hot in there.”

“It’s hot out here, too.” The summer heat of Costa Rica blanketed them in humidity, an ever-present moisture that clung to the skin and made him sweat.

“It’s loud in there, too,” she responded, nodding her head back at the house. “And chaotic. Tony’s so… I don’t know how to describe him.”

Strangely enough, Steve found himself laughing at that, too, a goofy smile creeping onto his face. “He can be a lot to handle, that’s for sure.”

“He’s a nice man, and he means well, but today…” she shook her head. “Today was just a long day.”

He hummed sympathetically, knowing exactly what she meant. The tension of this entire trip had built up to this one day, and it was nerve-wracking earlier during the fight and recon. Nobody wanted there to be any loose ends after all this time.

“I don’t know how you’ve fought this fight for almost six months,” he said. Two months had been enough for him.

Her head was tilted towards him, her eyes trained on him. The expression on her face was pensive, troubled. Finally, she said, “You know… they killed my mother.”

Steve didn’t say anything, he only looked at her with an open expression, expecting her to continue.

“It was a while after I joined, when El Orden started moving south. When the first terrorist attacks hit in Montevideo, I realized that they might come after my mother because of me. I begged her to leave town, to go somewhere safer…” She scoffed, a sour expression on her face. “My mother never protected me a day in her life, but I was trying to protect her. She was too stubborn to leave. I found her dead a few weeks later… And I… I don’t know… I wish I’d done something else.”

Elena grimaced, closed her eyes, her lips tight. She said, “I don’t know why I told you that.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He just stared at her. That vulnerable look was back again, the pain in her eyes, and he wanted to memorize every detail of her face when she was like this.

After a few moments, he said, “That’s not your fault. What happened to her isn’t your fault. And what happened to everyone else—your team—it’s not your fault, either.”

She met his eyes, inhaling a sharp breath when she saw the ferocity within them, the earnestness. Her lips twitched in what she wanted to be a smile.

Finally, she stood up. “I want to go swimming.”

Steve had no chance to respond before she started stripping off her clothes. He froze, shocked, as she walked forward, tossing her tank top behind her, shimmying her hips from her skirt. Her underwear, plain and black, came off next. Steve’s skin prickled at the sight; his lungs filled with lead.

Smooth skin, glowing bronze in the moonlight. Every notch of her vertebrae made a small dark shadow on the long column of her spine. A small waist with two twin dimples in the lower back flared out to her hips. He had seen glimpses of her figure beneath her clothes, and that catsuit Tony made for her accentuated every curve, but he had made a significant effort to not stare at her ass before.

Now, though, it was the only thing he could look at as she made her way towards the water.

His eyes darted back up to her face when she turned her head over her shoulder, but she had already caught him staring. He was expecting a smirk, a coy smile, a teasing, flirtatious comment. But she was still looking at him, vulnerable as before, with a little shy smile. Quietly, she asked, “Are you coming?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a cliffhanger, so I'm sorry? Next chapter will be up soon though!
> 
>  
> 
> The Spanish parts of this chapter are just Elena praying the Hail Mary, Glory Be, and Our Father in Spanish. Here are the translations for those interested:
> 
> Santa María, Madre de Dios - Holy Mary, Mother of God  
> ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amen - Now and at the hour of our death. Amen.  
> Como era en el principio, ahora y siempre, por los siglos de los siglos. Amen - As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen  
> Santificado sea tu nombre. Venga tu reino, Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo - Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven  
> Perdona nuestras ofensas, como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden. No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal - Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.


	6. El Mar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Elena go for a little swim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically this chapter is incredibly gratuitous and self-indulgent, but there's smut so you're welcome.  
> Also I thought this story was going to be slow-burn for Steve and Elena but then I changed my mind.  
> Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

That’s what convinced Steve to stand and start shedding his clothes. Not her ass, not her looks, but her sincere expression and honest words. Elena wasn’t wearing the playful mask she usually did, but instead, she was letting him see who she really was.

Her ankles were already submerged in the water by the time he got his shirt off. After unbuckling his jeans and pulling them down and off his feet, toeing his shoes and socks off in the process, his hands hovered over his briefs.

Steve debated whether or not to take them off. She was completely naked, after all. He didn’t want to take advantage of the situation or take this as an invitation for sex—he didn’t really have any idea about what might or might not happen between them.

Before he could think about it too much, he decided to follow his gut, pulling down the briefs and discarding them along with his other clothes.

Striding towards Elena leisurely, he took in her form, now knee-deep in the moving water. He envied the way the waves lapped at the insides of her thighs before settling back to her knees, only to kiss her there again with the next swell.

Admiring her body against the backdrop of the night, Steve tried to commit every detail to memory so he might sketch it later. The foam sticking to her skin before being washed away again. Wavy hair tickling the middle of her back. Long fingers, playing in the waves as she walked forward, letting the black surf slowly engulf her. The moonlight cast everything in a navy-blue hue and Steve found himself struck by the sight.

She dove into an oncoming wave just as Steve stepped into the water, treading the tide confidently, strongly, until he was waist-deep. Her head emerged not far from him and he dove towards her, swimming through the dark waters with ease. When he surfaced a few feet away from her, she turned finally and met his eyes.

“This is the most peaceful time for the ocean,” she said, droplets scattered across her cheeks. “I used to come out here at night, as a kid. And I’d swim, and I would tell the ocean all my secrets. The words get swallowed up by the waves and I would always feel so much lighter.”

He pushed his wet hair back from his forehead. With her words, Steve’s throat feel tight, his chest ached. As each second passed that he looked at her, the feelings were simultaneously relieved and worsened. Although the pain was exacerbated, it became something he could adapt to, even something he craved. When she looked away from him at the invisible horizon, he yearned for her to look back to him.

Her voice was a whisper when she spoke next, and he could only hear it past the rushing of the water because of his enhanced hearing. “What’s something secret you need to get off your chest, Steve?”

Elena usually called him by his title, sometimes by his last name, but this was different.

Steve gulped, his mind pondering the question. There were so many secrets he held inside of his heart, but none seemed appropriate to tell her. He thought about the secret she divulged to him, about her mother, about her guilt.

“Or is that classified information? I probably don’t have a high enough security clearance to know.” Her tone attempted to be lighter. She was giving him an out so he wouldn’t have to answer the question. But something inside of him wanted to be honest with her like she had been with him.

“I miss the time I grew up in, the time I lived in… the 30s, 40s… Today is so different in so many ways, but I feel I could never go back, if I had the chance…” he sighed heavily. A heavy feeling that had sat in his chest for so long was slowly dissipating with each word. “If I had the choice… I wouldn’t go back. And I feel guilty about that, like I’m leaving people behind. Leaving a life behind.”

He knew Elena heard him despite his low tone by the way she looked up at him, her eyes shining with some emotion he couldn’t identify.

They stood with solid feet on the ocean floor, feet buried in ever-moving sand. The water reached to her chest, mostly covering her breasts aside from when the tide dipped low. Steve willed himself not to look down. His eyes were trained on her face, instead, the smattering of freckles along her cheeks, the small slope of her nose ending in a rounded tip, wet eyelashes and eyebrows painted darker by the water.

The rocking of the water had lulled them both into a trance as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Without them realizing, the sea had drawn their bodies closer together. Steve would be able touch her if he moved his arm out only slightly.

Elena looked at him with an intensity that Steve hadn’t seen in a very long time, along with an undercurrent of unsureness that he wanted to smother. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him.

“Elena…” he whispered as her body was pushed closer to him again by the insistent current. The shaky breath she let out wasn’t lost on his ears. They were close enough that he could smell the faint odor of beer on her breath, along with a sweet scent from the cake.

Their bodies bumped, and it seemed to shock her. She jolted, not backwards, but further into him, and Steve wondered if she was feeling the same sparks that prickled his skin wherever they touched.

He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t think of anything to say.

A smile appeared on her lips, small, meditative. He returned it tentatively, asking, “What are you smiling at?”

She shook her head, her smile widening as she tried to suppress it. “It’s cheesy.”

“Tell me,” he urged her. Under the water, his hand brushed against her waist.

“Reminds me of a line from a Pablo Neruda poem I like. ‘Ebrio De Trementina’.”

Steve whispered again, “Tell me,” as hands settled against the curve of her torso.

Her hands came to rest on his chest, over his rapidly beating heart. Low and raspy, her voice recited the words that had come to her mind, “Voy, duro de pasiones, montado en mi ola única, / lunar, solar, ardiente y frío, repentino, / dormido en la garganta de las afortunadas / islas blancas y dulces como caderas frescas.”

As Elena spoke, her head moved softly with the rhythm of the words falling vibrantly from her lips, the same rhythm of the waves falling around them. Her eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes wet against her cheeks. A faint blush covered her skin. She exhaled sharply when she was finished, and Steve could feel her breath hot against his collarbone. He met her eyes once again as she gazed up at him through her lashes.

Although he couldn’t understand every word she said, he was blown away. He was enraptured by the way her lips moved around the syllables, her tongue rolling with the flow of the words, and he didn’t know if he wanted her to keep speaking or if he wanted to push his mouth against hers and feel it on his own skin.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, eyes flickering to her lips.

 “Then kiss me.”

Their eyes closed as his lips met hers, soft at first, tentative, before Steve pressed in harder, his lips falling and moving with hers like the rhythm of the poem, soft and sweet at first, then passionate, vehement. His hands moved to her back and his arms encircled her, pulling her closer to him.

Elena opened her lips for him and he pressed his mouth against hers, lips wet with the sea, tongue wet with saliva. He tasted her, all salt and beer and sugar and cream. Steve yearned to lick the taste right from her mouth.

Her arms came up to clutch his shoulders, then circled his neck as she relaxed into the kiss. He pressed her up against him, ignoring his growing erection pushing into her stomach and focusing his mind instead on how her body felt against his, pliant and soft.

As he gripped onto the soft curve of her waist, he pulled away to breathe. When he looked into her eyes, he saw a new hunger within them that spurred him on.

He kissed her again with a renewed fervor, his hands moved up her waist, rubbing her sides, moving up her back. Burying one hand in her wet hair, he gripped the back of her neck, while the other rubbed gentle circles on her hip. He swallowed the tiny whimpers she released, relishing how her body felt in his hands.

Releasing her mouth, Steve used the hand on her neck to turn her head to the side, kissing along her neck and jaw, sucking onto her pulse point as she sighed and melted into him. She rubbed his shoulders and neck now, squirming against his body, breasts brushing up against him underneath the tide.

“Please,” she whispered into his ear, hot breath tickling him. The fire in Steve’s chest burned bright at her plea.

Elena’s nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned against her neck, soliciting another whimper out of her from the vibrations. He pulled his mouth from her neck and both his hands moved to her thighs to lift her up and wrap her legs around his waist.

When he held her up against him, her breasts were lifted out of the water. He took in the sight of her body, skin glistening with seawater. Her breasts were slightly paler than the rest of her tanned skin, but her nipples were a rich rosy-brown color.

As he eyed her body, one hand came up to cup her cheek, then danced lower, brushing his knuckles against her jaw, her chin, running down the column of her throat, thumbing the dip between her clavicles. She gasped and panted with each new touch, and Steve loved how responsive she was.

Finally, his hand rested on her breast, kneading and cupping it, and she moaned as his lips came down to wrap around her nipple. He sucked and licked until he could no longer taste the salt on her skin, and then repeated the act on the other breast, ending it with a light bite to her nipple that had her crying out and grinding her hips on him.

“God!” Elena gasped, holding his head against her breast. Steve repeated the action until she was pulling his hair and shoving him away from the oversensitive nub. Instead of stopping, he moved to give the same harsh treatment to her other nipple. When she was trying again to pull his head off, he dipped his lips to suck a bruise into the underside of her breast, pleased when a mark showed up reddish-purple.

When he looked at her again, he was smirking, and her lips were swollen, open as she panted.

“Steve,” she half-whispered, half-whined as he traced her cheekbone with his thumb, dipping it down to outline the swell of her lower lip. Pouting her lips, she placed a small kiss to the pad of his finger. He pushed his thumb against her lip, past her teeth, against her tongue for her to suck the salt off of. As she sucked and swirled her tongue on his finger, he brought his other hand from her hip to her ass, guiding her hips as she pushed against him.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice gruffer that he intended. When she only whimpered in response, Steve tightened his hold on her ass and moved his hand to grip her jaw. Her lips pouted with the pressure he put on her cheeks. “Tell me,” he commanded of her.

“You,” she gasped, “You, inside me, please.”

Although his cock ached and he longed to fuck her, he had to get her ready first.

He brought his hand down to the warm space between her legs, feeling the hot wetness there, slick, slippery, so unlike the seawater around them. One finger brushed over her clit and she arched her back into his touch, keening, begging for more. As he played with her clit, he watched her face, how she bit her lower lip, squeezed her eyes shut.

“Look at me,” he rasped. Her eyes fluttered open and locked onto him, roving over his face. He slipped two fingers inside of her at once, feeling her walls gripping him tight, dragging against him as he pumped in and out. “Is this what you wanted, Elena? Hmm? Fuck, you’re taking my fingers so good, darlin’.”

She licked her lips, breathing heavily, her chest heaving. Her hips moved in time with his fingers while his thumb ran languidly back and forth over her clitoris. “Steve,” she moaned, “Don’t stop, please.”

Bringing the hand on her ass up to cup the back of her head, he brought her closer, kissing her again. Elena pulled away, a renewed plea for him not to stop on her lips. He peppered her face with kisses, all around her cheeks and lips and jaw. Her face moved to bury into his neck, panting and licking lightly at his salty skin.

“Yes, yes, Steve, right there,” she was mumbling into his skin, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Steve _loved_ the way she begged.

He pressed his lips to her temple. “I’m not gonna stop, baby, want you to come for me.” His voice was deep as he spoke and it rumbled through her skull and body, deep vibrations driving her on towards her finish.

It didn’t take long before he felt her thighs clenching around him like a vice grip. He wondered if her thighs wrapped this tightly around her victims when she jumped onto their necks and slit their throats, a move he’d seen her do dozens of times by now.

“That’s it, darlin’, you’re doing so good,” he praised her, and as she shuddered at his words, he felt the walls of her pussy flutter. “Gonna come for me so good, all over my fingers. C’mon, let go. I got you.”

Elena’s orgasm swelled up and up and up and crashed through her, her thighs and hips jerking, mouth moving soundlessly against his shoulder, fingers clutching at his shoulders and hair. Steve kept his fingers thrusting into her throughout it, not stopping until she was begging him again.

“Please, please, please, Steve,” she was whispering into his ear, the sounds of her voice melding in with the hush of the waves. “Please, I need you inside me. Please, fuck me.”

She brought her head back to look at him and he admired her, skin flushed and eyes glazed, lips slick with spit as they murmured continued pleas to him. He smirked, shaking his head at her, “Well when you ask me so sweet like that…”

A smile came across her face and she whispered, “Thank you, thank you.” Steve had to admit, he thoroughly enjoyed her enthusiasm. He positioned himself at her entrance and sank into her. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she breathed, moaning as he slipped fully inside.

Steve gripped her hips, dropping his head against her shoulder to bite and suck at the skin there. “You feel so good around me,” he whispered against her skin, “So perfect around my cock.”

At his words, he felt her clench around him, causing him to jerk his hips and thrust deeper into her. She cried out, begging again now, “Please move, oh—oh God, please—fuck me—”

Her words were cut off by Steve’s hips moving against hers, using his grip on her hips and ass to raise and lower her on his dick. Moans fell from her lips, her head thrown back in pleasure. Steve thrusted his hips against hers urgently, grinding their hips together each time he sheathed himself completely inside of her.

“God, yes, yes,” Elena repeated, not even knowing what she was saying at that point.

“You like that?” he asked, punctuating his words with a sharp jab of his hips.

“Oh!” she cried, and then nodded. She panted, “Mm-hmm, you feel so good— _fuck_ —so, so good.”

Now she began to move her hips against him rhythmically to the point that he didn’t need to guide her movements. He groaned at the sight of her body working against his underneath the water. “Workin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

Taking one hand away from her hips, he moved it between their legs to rub her clit in tight circles. Elena shuddered and leaned forward again to burrow her face into his neck. He stopped her, bringing his other hand away from her hips to grab a fistful of her hair, dragging her head back so he could look at her face.

“Wanna see your face when you come, baby,” he growled, “Wanna see how pretty you look, coming all over me.”

It didn’t take long before her thighs were clenching on him again, her hips stuttering as she grinded.

He watched her face as she came, lips open in a lush pout, eyes shut tight, eyebrows scrunched together. Redness swept from her face down to her breasts, and a drop of perspiration beaded on her temple and fell down her cheek. Leaning forward, he kissed where the droplet fell on her cheekbone before taking her mouth in a bruising kiss, kissing her as she came down from her peak.

He swallowed a few residual whimpers of hers before picking the pace back up with his hips, chasing his own release. She buried her hands in his hair, kissing him with passion as she moved her hips against him, trying to bring him the same pleasure he brought her. His hand kept up the quick pace on her clitoris, even throughout her orgasm.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his balls tightening as he pounded into her.

She panted into his ear, “I want you to come for me, Steve. Come so good for me—” He bit down on her shoulder, licking over the mark. Her back arched at the sensation and she groaned, “ _Oh_ , my— _God_ —fuck, Steve, please, baby.”

He could feel her body tensing again, winding itself up. “Can you come again?” he asked her, still rubbing her.

Elena whimpered at the feel of his fingers on her, “Dunno—so sensitive. It’s— _ah_ —so good, though, so good.”

“Want you to come for me one more time,” he breathed against her ear, “Just one more time, darlin’, you can do it, I know you can. Just for me.” He found her orgasms to be absolutely sensational and he longed to pull another one out of her.

Steve changed the angle of his hips until she cried out, “Oh my _fucking_ — _God_! Right there, right—oh!”

Bringing the hand that was still in her hair down to grip her ass again, he hammered his hips, hitting that one spot with the head of his cock again and again. The fast pace was getting to him, bringing him closer to the edge faster than he wanted, but it was working wonders for Elena, who was barely comprehensible as she threw her head back, babbling nonsensical pleas to the sky. He had her muttering words in Spanish that he didn’t have the brain to understand right now, but by the way she tightened her hands on his scalp and scrunched her face up, he could tell that she was getting closer, too.

By the time Steve felt the coil in his pelvis tightening in preparation for release, he had her coming a third time, tightening around his cock as the pace of his hips faltered. He managed to pull out right before he came, unleashing streams of come into the waters around them. As they came, she yanked his hips closer to her, grinding her pussy along his shaft as they both rode out their orgasms together.

Their grinding slowed to the occasional jerk of their hips against each other as post-orgasmic spasms racked their bodies. Finally, she released his ass, bringing her hands up to cup his face and pulling him into a kiss.

Steve kissed her lazily, enjoying the post-coital bliss that fell over them, dragging his own hands up and down her back in a calming manner. She relaxed into his touch, her muscles were pliant and soft as he gently massaged her back. He felt the same way, droopy and sleepy, utterly pleased and exhausted.

Briefly, he wondered if she noticed he was still hard. If she did, she didn’t mention it. His erections rarely went down after only one orgasm, an effect of the serum, but he was too tired right now to keep going, and she probably was, too. They had had a very long day, having been awake since three in the morning, and he just didn’t have it in him to go another round.

He was the first to pull away, looking at her face, the glaze in her eyes, the dazed smile on her lips. She looked thoroughly fucked out, he noted with a flare of pride, unable to contain the cocky smirk that tugged at his lips.

After brushing away a few damp strands of hair that stuck to her cheeks and neck, he set her back down on the ocean floor.

Elena swayed with the oncoming waves for a moment before Steve said, “We’ve been missing for a while. We should probably head back.” This broke her out of her stupor, and she nodded. Quickly, she dunked her head in the water and followed him back to the shore.

They could see the party inside still raging on. Nobody had come out to see where they had gone to, considering there were only the two trails of footsteps in the sand—one belonging to Steve and one to Elena.

Steve watched on as she strode ahead of him out of the surf and onto the sand, soaking wet, long hair dripping streams of water down her back. Despite the fact that anyone could have looked out the glass windows of the house and seen them naked, she didn’t cover her body with her hands to try to hide her shame. He, on the other hand, kept one hand over his groin just in case.

As she slipped on her panties and tank top, he realized that their bodies were wet and they had no towels to dry off. With the thick humidity, it would be impossible to air dry. If he put his clothes back on, he would get them wet, too, and everyone would be able to tell they had gone swimming.

She looked over to him where he stood with his briefs in his hands. The black cloth of her tank top clung to her wet breasts, outlining the shape of her nipples obscenely. His cock twitched at the sight and he slipped on his briefs quickly so she wouldn’t see.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we’re all wet?” he asked, putting his pants back on. It was uncomfortable to put clothes back on with wet skin, and the cotton of his pants stuck to him all the way up his leg.

Elena laughed lightly, tugging her skirt past her hips. “They most definitely would notice. But there’s a patio entrance in the room Natasha and I are staying in. We can sneak in through there.”

Once they were both dressed, she collected their empty bottles before following him silently around to the side of the house and to one of the patio doors. He opened the door carefully, slipping inside as silently as possible.

Natasha was sat on her bed, unbuckling the strap of her heels when they entered. She had already reached for her gun by the time Steve saw her, lowering it once she locked eyes with him.

“Oof—” Elena hadn’t been looking and bumped into Steve’s back. “What—”

When she sidestepped Steve, she saw Natasha.

The redhead was looking between the both of them, taking in their soaking wet hair and clothes, an amused smile playing on her lips.

Steve exhaled. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see—and Natasha would probably make a big deal of it. _Great_.

“Look,” he started, glaring at her, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t know what to do except to make an awkward exit. “Not a word, Romanoff.”

With that, he slipped out of the room, looking back briefly to see both the women staring at him, Natasha with mirth in her eyes and Elena with that far-off expression. He still didn’t know what that look meant.

Once he reached his room a few doors down, he stripped and dried off, putting on clean clothes. Steve sat on the edge of his bed, pondering the look in her eyes, the feel of her body, her place on their team. A sinking feeling was coming over him with the slow realization that what had transpired between him and Elena was probably not a good idea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Spanish in this chapter is from a poem by Pablo Neruda called "Ebrio De Trementina", or "Drunk With Pines". Here's the translation:
> 
> Hardened by my passions, I go mounted on my one wave, / Lunar, solar, burning, and cold, all at once, / becalmed in the throat of the fortunate isles / that are as white and sweet as cool hips.


	7. The Debriefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena gets her first taste of S.H.I.E.L.D., and she's not sure if she likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is VERY lightly edited. I've been sitting on this chapter for a while now but I just haven't been able to bring myself to thoroughly edit it. Editing is my least favorite part of writing fanfics so if anyone wants to beta for me or knows where I can find a beta who can help me with editing, it would be very much appreciated!
> 
> I hope you guys like this chapter! However, there is less action this time and a lot of dialogue. Things are going to start getting more intense in the next few chapters maybe (MAYBE).
> 
> Also I just wanted to let everyone know, I have this entire fic planned out and I'm giving a fair warning that Bucky won't really be in it until like chapter 10 or 11. The Bucky/Elena romance is 1000% slow burn whereas the Steve/Elena romance is more like 50% slow burn. I'm sorry to disappoint anyone who was hoping for more Bucky action :(
> 
> Please enjoy and any kudos or comments are SO much appreciated!!! :)

Elena had deliberated the events of the previous night thoroughly. After avoiding eye contact with Natasha and slipping into the shower to wash the sand from her ankles and the saline from her hair, it occurred to her that she knew so little about Steve and she wondered how they had managed to become intimate in the first place.

The party had been growing too rambunctious for her and she had been speaking to Rumlow and Natasha about her previous “relationship” with Val—if three separate alcohol-fueled nights together could be considered a relationship. All the reminiscing and memories had just been a little too much for her to handle, so she had elected to get some fresh air and wander around the beach instead. Elena had always loved walking along the sand to clear her head, something she had done since her childhood every time she stayed with her grandmother at her beach house in Montevideo.

Steve had been out, sitting on the beach, and she figured it would be awkward to walk past him without saying hi, so she took a seat next to him and made small talk. It was a big surprise when he started talking back, even going as far as to _joke_ with her, and that had encouraged her to _open up to him_.

Elena had no idea why she told him about her mother, and she was regretting it more and more. He just had to go and be _sympathetic_ , saying it _wasn’t her fault_.

It was her fault, she knew that, she was irrevocably convinced of that. When he was talking to her in that soft, serious tone, his eyes boring into her with that intense gaze, it made her throat close and tears prick behind her eyes. And she had felt so uncomfortable, so jittery, that she had to do something—anything—to break the tension between them.

Her brain had landed on skinny dipping.

She had always loved swimming at night, it was an old childhood comfort. It seemed like the obvious choice in her moment of weakness. Obviously she hadn’t thought Steve would actually join her, and she hadn’t expected anything that happened after that, either.

Throughout her time on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s team fighting El Orden, Elena had gotten used to Steve as Captain Rogers, the team’s stoic and collected leader, truly the “Man with a Plan”.

He had always been nothing but professional with her. She was no longer wary of him as a result of the shock-collar incident, which he had apologized multiple times for, but she couldn’t help but sass Steve on occasion or try to joke with him to lighten the mood. It usually just ended up annoying him and he would respond with short, snappy commands about the mission at hand.

When she looked back at him, her body bare to his eyes, and asked him if he was coming, she had meant for it to be a teasing joke, but her voice had still been thick with emotion and she had still been trying not to cry, so of course he somehow took it as a genuine invitation.

It didn’t seem like real life. Instead, the whole encounter had seemed like some hazy dream.

When he joined her in the water, her chest was still feeling tight, and the words between them kept getting more and more personal, and suddenly he wasn’t the Captain anymore. He was just Steve.

He had been standing in front of her, the waves pulling them together, and she had gotten _lost_ in his eyes, as corny as that seems. The moonlight had been catching his irises in the most perfect way, luminating them a bright silvery-blue.

And the way he looked at her had been so sad, so understanding at the same time. The current against them drew their bodies closer, like the sea wanted them to embrace. And, God, Elena was a romantic at heart, even if she’d never admit it to anyone, so looking at him, standing with him in the ocean, how could she _not_ think of Pablo Neruda?

Her grandmother had been a professor of literature and raised her appropriately. She had read Elena Gabriel García Márquez as bedtime stories when she was little. Neruda was in her blood.

So when she recited that stanza from “Ebrio De Trementina”, Steve looked at her with stars in his eyes and asked to kiss her, and he made her vibrate all over. The sex had been downright _amazing_. It had been a long, long, long time since Elena had sex that was that good. It seemed like every touch had her body lighting on fire, every kiss had her breathless. She ached for more every time she thought about it, and she couldn’t help but think that _this is the stuff people write love poems about_.

She could probably write a few of her own by now, but of course she wouldn’t because it had clearly been a one-night thing, based on how Steve was acting since.

Opening her eyes, Elena looked around the plane. She could not start thinking about this _now_ , when they were all sitting on Tony’s private jet together, less than an hour from Washington D.C.

Natasha sent her a smirk from across the aisle, noticing that Elena’s cheeks were flushed, betraying her thoughts. Luckily, Steve could not see her. Once Elena had boarded the plane and chosen her seat, he had taken the farthest possible seat away from her, not even looking at her as he passed.

He hadn’t looked at her or spoken to her since the night before, when he hadn’t even said goodbye when he left the room. Not like she was expecting a goodnight kiss or anything, not in front of Natasha, but she expected more than this stony, tense silence between them.

She turned back to the files and notes in front of her. Natasha had prepared Elena for how the debriefing would go, explaining that it would involve questions about their mission and likely a lot of questions aimed at Elena about her role before and after she joined their team. Elena had been going over everything again to get her facts straight and her mind cleared.

The truth was, she was feeling incredibly anxious about going to Washington and meeting people at S.H.I.E.L.D. and being part of this whole process. However, everyone had assured her that it was necessary for her to be there, and Natasha even mentioned that S.H.I.E.L.D. might recruit her.

But she wasn’t a professional secret agent—or whatever the job title actually was—and she had no idea how to be one. She wasn’t good at this business, the espionage, she was only good at killing people.

However, Natasha had been helping her the last few weeks, giving her tips and teaching her about her job, how to be a spy. It had helped a lot, but Elena still wasn’t always sure what she was doing. Natasha assured her that she would get better, but Elena didn’t necessarily believe that.

Soon, the plane was preparing to land and they were ushered into a black car that led them to the Triskelion. Elena looked out the window as they drove, taking in the vaguely familiar sights of Washington D.C.

She had been there once, for a week in her sophomore year of high school. It was a class trip and they had gotten to tour the White House and the Capitol Building and every single other important monument. The trip had inspired her to go into politics in the first place. It was only once she became disillusioned with the United States Government in college that she had decided on foreign policy instead.

Her fifteen-year-old self certainly hadn’t anticipated _this_ , where she was now, working with S.H.I.E.L.D., fighting terrorists.

Although she supposed her grandfather would be pleased.

Elena followed the others into the huge white building, up many floors in the glass elevator, and finally into a large conference room. Several people were already inside, waiting for them around a long table, including several men and women in suits and a formidable-looking man with an eyepatch.

“Captain Rogers,” one of the suited men greeted Steve, “We’re glad to finally have this mission completed.”

Steve only nodded, unsmiling, now back in his stony Captain Rogers persona that Elena had gotten used to. The man with the eyepatch greeted the others, telling everyone to have a seat, before finally turning to Elena. “You must be Eleanora Maldonado-Ortiz. I’m Nick Fury, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Taking a seat between Clint and Natasha, Elena shook the man’s hand firmly, nodding her head. “I go by Elena Maldonado, please. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad you could be here.” It’s not like she had a choice, Natasha had previously informed her. He continued, “We’re hoping you can give us more insight into why El Orden Sagrado was so elusive, how this went on for so long.”

And she certainly did. Over the next four or five hours, they underwent a long debriefing that felt much more like an interrogation of Elena, what with the way they rapidly fired questions at her and sent accusatory glares.

The first suited man had begun, “We’ll start with when you first found out about El Orden Sagrado.”

She was suddenly put into the spotlight, all eyes looking on her now. Looking around slightly wide-eyed, she caught a reassuring glance from Natasha. Steve was looking at his hands, clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Elena opened the notebook and files she had brought, filled with notes and bullet points about everything that had transpired for her in the past six or so months. Her hands shook as she sorted through all the papers. Finally, she took a deep breath and started speaking.

“El Orden Sagrado’s first terrorist attack was on Christmas Day of last year, in Managua, Nicaragua.”

“Where were you at the time?” immediately one of the suited men interrupted, asking the question with narrowed eyes towards her.

She inhaled sharply. “I was working at the Uruguay Consulate in Los Angeles. I had the day off for Christmas, so I was at home, alone. But over the next week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, there were four more attacks across Central America.” She began to list them off, the order burned into her memory, “San Salvador, San Miguel, Tegucigalpa, and Guatemala. I was volunteering with a nonprofit organization for Central and South American asylum seekers at the time—”

“What did you do at this organization?” came a sharp question from a brunette woman near Nick Fury. Elena wished these people had introduced themselves because they all looked like the same stern faces in intimidating black suits.

“We got in contact with asylum seekers from other countries and aided them in the process of seeking asylum and applying for citizenship. Once asylum seekers landed in the U.S., we helped them to obtain legal representation, housing, other services. We worked directly with the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services field offices in Southern California to accomplish this.”

“You worked closely with the USCIS previous to this, correct?”

Elena nodded, assuming they had done a thorough background check on her. She wondered what else they found. “I interned with them in college. Two semesters at the San Bernardino Field Office.”

“UCLA, right?” the woman asked, and then continued once Elena nodded, “We found quite the impressive resume on you. We’ll have plenty of time to go over all of that later. For now, tell us what happened next.”

Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Elena tried to focus on what she had been saying instead of on the impending solo meeting with these people.

“Once the fourth attack hit, the NPO was looking for volunteers to go to Central America and help a few specific asylum seekers. High profile people who had been targeted specifically by El Orden. I went, and the goal was to help them pack up their lives as best as we could, escort them to Los Angeles, and help them relocate, guiding them through the process of asylum once they arrived.”

 “And what happened when you got there?”

“I was assigned to help a journalist in Tegucigalpa, collect his family—”

“Can you tell us the name of this journalist?” Fury asked.

“Ignacio Tejedor. Tejedor was very vocal against terrorism and the church, which, of course, was the foundation for El Orden.”

Some of the people in the room exchanged knowing glances.

She continued, “We were ambushed at the airport. I was trying to protect him, and I was fighting off a few men at once—there were a lot of guys from El Orden there. It’s all kind of a blur—at one point I disarmed one of them, used the gun to take out some more of the men in the terminal. I thought we were outnumbered, but then a few other people showed up with guns and started helping us. With their help, I managed to stay alive but Tejedor was killed.”

“These people who showed up to help,” Fury started, “Was that el Colectivo Latino?”

Elena nodded. “But they hadn’t even named themselves at that point. When I got back home to LA, someone had broken into my apartment. It was the people from the airport. I come to find out that they are an organization trying to fight El Orden.”

“What can you tell us about how this organization came to be?” Fury asked.

 “The founders, Ynez and Ramón Garcia, they were from San Salvador, ex-military. They wanted to stop El Orden from claiming any more lives because the governments of the targeted countries were not doing anything about it. The US wasn’t even close to being involved yet. Ynez and Ramón, they just wanted to help.”

“Who else was involved at this point?”

“Well, they recruited Valeria Baldez in Santo Domingo, and then Eduardo de la Vega, a US citizen from San Diego. And then they recruited me.”

“These others, how did they get involved?”

“Eduardo was ex-Navy. He was recruited in San Salvador working for some disaster relief organization. Then Valeria was actually one of you. Involved in international espionage. I’m not certain exactly, she barely told me anything. I don’t know if that’s her real name, actually.”

As she described el Colectivo Latino’s activities, some of the people in the room seemed to relax. At one point, one man asked, “So el Colectivo Latino was _not_ a terrorist organization?”

Elena was taken aback at this. She blinked, once, twice. “Excuse me?”

“Well, the group was present at many of the terrorist attacks, and—”

“Yes, because we were _fighting_ the terrorists.”

The man doubled down, “Well there was such little information about it. We were just ruling the idea out.”

“Do you think we would have worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. if we were the terrorists?”

“There were certainly some people in your group who were reluctant to work with S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he replied.

“Yes, for valid reasons that involve the way Latin American countries have been mistreated and patronized by the United States for decades now."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them. Elena wanted to berate them more but decided it might not be the best use of her energy. They continued asking questions, and she continued to answer.

At this point, Elena was divulging information freely. She wanted them to know the truth and she wanted them to trust her. From there, she told them about quitting her job and joining this small ragtag team. She spoke about stopping terrorist attacks for months across Central America and the Caribbean. After giving them detailed information about everything she knew about every member of her team, she ran them through almost every single fight they had been in, every lead they had chased, every city they had passed through and for what reasons. They wanted to know how they got their intel, what each member of the group did, and every single piece of intelligence they had on El Orden.

By the time she arrived at the point where she saw Captain Rogers in Barranquilla, how he chased her through the market and saw him at the church the next day, her throat was dry and her voice was tired.

The entire time, she had kept her gaze only on the people asking her questions, not looking around to Natasha or Clint or Steve or anyone. Mostly, she looked at the table in front of her, using it to anchor herself.

At this point, she listened as Captain Rogers spoke about when they had started this mission, some two months before their first meeting with Elena, four months after Elena herself had been recruited.

He spoke of every detail in a calm and concise manner, much more collected than Elena had been when telling her own story. She looked at him as he spoke out of respect, but he didn’t spare a glance to her. His face was so serious the entire time, and Elena was getting so tired of all of this.

They had been speaking for _hours_.

“So your group first took note of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents when in Montevideo?” she was asked.

“Yes,” she answered, “I believe that was the very first place S.H.I.E.L.D. went when starting this mission. It was the first attack on my hometown. I was angry about that fact, and angry that the US had waited so long to get involved in this international terrorism—”

“The US got involved when it had to get involved—when it made sense for us to get involved,” Fury said.

“When the attack in San Diego happened,” she stated, “Only when your own people were in danger. Not after the thousands were killed in Central America, not after they had infiltrated more than thirteen different countries. El Colectivo was the only one taking care of the victims then.” She knew her voice was sharp, accusatory.

Fury eyed her, “El Colectivo didn’t manage to stop the attack in San Diego from happening. 117 people died in that attack. Where were you then, hmm?”

That shut her up, alright.

Her jaw clenched and she looked away, back to the table. Her blood ran hot and her leg bounced up and down under the table. She was certain at this point that her nails had made permanent cuts in the palms of her hands.

They continued speaking about the events, including every time el Colectivo had seen S.H.I.E.L.D. in different countries, when they had been given a false lead to Mexico, and when el Colectivo had lost most of its members in Bolivia. Elena had to explain all that, shame burning on her face. Her voice got quieter with each wrong she confessed to, each instance she had ignored the possibility that S.H.I.E.L.D. might actually be able to help.

“And more people died because of these decisions,” Elena was saying, “And I take full responsibility for it.”

“It’s not your fault,” Steve growled unexpectedly. His eyes were pinched shut, a line carved between his brows, and he was pinching the bridge of his nose like he had a headache.

Fury grumbled, “Care to explain how all that’s not her fault, Rogers?”

He didn’t, though. His eyes opened and met Elena’s briefly, but he only clenched his jaw and immediately looked away. He motioned for the suited men to continue their questions.

Elena seethed silently, a little more than annoyed that the first time he spoke to her since fucking her was to say _that_ , of all stupid things.

It _literally_ was her fault. She was largely to blame. For many, many things.

Fury turned to her after Natasha and Steve answered some more questions about the espionage they had done before meeting Elena. He said, “Why do you think they had such a hard time finding leads when your team had so much intel on everything El Orden did?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “We didn’t know about all of their activities.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve roll his eyes and cross his arms across his chest. In his suit, his biceps and pecs bulged out threateningly. Elena was convinced he did that move solely to appear more intimidating.

“You knew a hell of a lot more than we did,” Fury stated.

“I don’t know. We found more leads, managed to find the right people who would talk to us. My team had been at this since the very beginning, for many more months. We started to learn their trends, their patterns. We started to learn the faces, find the members who were most likely to give us insider information.”

Fury said, “It was frustrating, from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s perspective, to send our best guys out on this mission and not get any results for more than two months. I’m sure you can understand.”

Elena nodded, “We spent six months thinking this would never end. And now I’m the only one left, and it doesn’t feel like the victory I imagined it would be half a year ago.”

A silence came over the room again. It felt like a weight had fallen on them, reminding them of how much she had lost. She was acutely aware of every single person who had died in front of her, everyone from random strangers caught in the middle of the attacks, to her close teammates and friends, to her own mother.

Fury changed the subject. They covered the past few weeks in great detail. Steve took over, but some questions were thrown to other members of the team, including Elena, about their combat choices, the intel they gathered, and the men they had captured.

Elena stumbled through these questions, mostly just stating when she had to kill or capture someone. That was mostly what she did, anyways—the fighting and killing. After the first two times she fucked up the recon and espionage part, Steve had decided she wouldn’t be as big of a part of that anymore.

They weren’t huge mistakes, luckily. She almost gave their position away a few times, had a few instances of forgetting information on accident or not obtaining certain details they needed. She just got so nervous sometimes and suddenly she didn’t know what the fuck she was doing. It tended to make her feel incredibly incompetent.

Thankfully, Steve seemed to bypass mentioning any of her screw-ups while he described the past weeks. Elena didn’t know what to think of that.

She chose not to think of it at all, and luckily the debriefing was wrapping up. After they detailed out the types of weapons and drugs trafficked by El Orden, they went through the log of their bases and headquarters—all of which had been destroyed or thoroughly investigated and cleared out.

They mentioned a few key members of the organization, including the leader, Juan Luis Ricardo, who was currently in a max security cell somewhere else in the building. Very few members escaped, but there were some. S.H.I.E.L.D. had decided for the time being to allow those individuals to be apprehended by military forces in Latin American.

Elena hoped that went well, but she didn’t have much confidence that those men would be found.

Once it was certain that there were no loose ends to worry about, Fury said, “Well done, all of you. It may have taken longer than we wanted, but we got them in the end. Meeting dismissed. All of you, get some sleep and a good meal.” As Elena was standing up, Fury motioned for her to stay seated.

The woman who sat beside him, who had been called Hill by someone else during the debriefing, said, “We’d like you to stay so we can talk about your potential future at S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Oh,” Elena said, a little shocked, “Oh-okay.”

As she waited for everyone to leave, she caught Steve looking at her. He held her gaze for a moment before walking past her and out of the room.

Elena sighed, dejected.

Once the final person left and the door shut, only Fury, Hill, and two other men remained.

Fury began, “We’d like to offer you a position here at S.H.I.E.L.D. You’re a good fighter, although you could use work in other areas.”

She put her hands up, “I just—I don’t know if I really want to do this.” Foreign policy was much more familiar to her, safer, more in her comfort zone. She hadn’t planned to become an assassin of terrorists, and now that all of this with El Orden had happened, she wanted to put it behind her and move on with her life.

Fury nodded slowly, rummaging around through the files in front of him. He extracted a manila folder and tossed it down in front of her. He didn’t say anything, only waited for her to open it.

When she did, she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

The picture was one of the old ones from the 60s, black and white, a little fuzzy. The man wore his military uniform and held a rifle in front of his chest.

Below that, a picture of a dead man—Elena didn’t know exactly who he was, but the man from the first picture stood over him, stoic as always.

Just the sight of the man made her blood run cold. He looked like she remembered him, clean beard and mustache, slicked back oily hair, cruel eyes, vacant expression.

Her grandfather. The man who made her who she was.


	8. The Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena moves to Washington D.C. and starts working at S.H.I.E.L.D. We get a little more of a glimpse into her background! Things are more than a little awkward when she sees Steve again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter but I'll probably put out another chapter soon. I've just been sitting on so many chapters for a few weeks because I haven't edited them.

Elena had been allowed two weeks to go back to Los Angeles and say goodbye to her life there. There wasn’t much—she had given up her apartment and sold her car the previous winter before going off to Central America, she no longer had any family there, and she didn’t have a job to cut ties with.

She did have a small group of good friends, however, who planned to make her last days in California the best she’d ever had. Clubbing and bar hopping every night, spending late nights on the beach into the early mornings, and making sure to hit all the best restaurants one last time.

They also questioned her incessantly on where she had been for the past six months, why she was suddenly back, and why she was inexplicably moving to Washington D.C. She indulged them as much as she could considering the “sensitive nature” of the information, as Maria Hill had put it.

On her last night, they took her out for tacos and tequila—her favorite combo—as a way to say goodbye.

Then she had cried with her closest girlfriends in the bathroom of the bar about how she fucked someone—she specifically avoided naming Captain America—and he hadn’t looked her way since.

This wasn’t the first time her friends had heard her cry over the man in the past two weeks.

_She had read him poetry for God’s sakes!_

Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, her tear-tracked cheeks, her messy hair, she realized—what did she _expect_?

How would Steve Rogers, America’s golden boy, ever want _her_. That wouldn’t make sense—after all, she was just some mouthy Latina girl who wasn’t good at espionage and was hardly competent at combat. He was _perfect_ , and he could do so much better.

When Elena had voiced this, one of her best friends, her former dormmate at UCLA, slapped her on the back of the head and said, “Shut up, bitch. You’re hot, you’re thick, you’ve got thighs for days! I don’t know who this bitch-ass thinks he is, but if he can’t see how amazing you are, he don’t deserve you!”

Her other best friend, who had known her since high school, chimed in, “And you are _so_ good at _combat_ , or whatever. You, like, _tore_ Sofia Jimenez’s ass _apart_ in junior year! Remember, she needed five stitches in her lip!”

“I know what you need! Wipe your tears up, lady, we’re doing body shots!”

Elena took another tequila shot with them and danced the night away.

She was hungover the next morning when a Town Car arrived to pick her up and drop her off at the airport. She proceeded to take her flight—in _first class_ —and get picked up by a matching Town Car in D.C. It was supposed to take her to the hotel S.H.I.E.L.D. was paying for while she took time to find an apartment.

It dropped her off at the Ritz-Carlton, and when Elena walked into the lobby of the hotel with its gleaming marble floors and golden chandelier, the only thing her brain could think of saying was, “Ha-ha, what the fuck?”

The concierge checked her in and a bellhop carried her shabby suitcase to her hotel room. Stepping inside the room—the _suite_ , actually—she took in the expensive contemporary décor, the jacuzzi tub in the bathroom, and the gorgeous view of the city.

“I don’t deserve this,” Elena said to the empty room. “I am not worth all of this.”

An envelope sat on the desk and when Elena opened it, she saw a letter with an official S.H.I.E.L.D. letterhead. It was from Maria Hill, welcoming her back to Washington. It thanked her for coming and said that they were looking forward to working with her.

What had her life turned into?

 

Elena started working with S.H.I.E.L.D. almost immediately. They had brought her in a few days after her flight to have her perform various skills for them, just as a test to see how she was.

She shot off more guns than she had ever seen in her life—and considering her childhood, she was pretty impressed with that. After acing the target practice test, she engaged in hand-to-hand combat with one of their trainers, then in knife combat, then in melee weapons combat, which she was not nearly as skilled in.

The trainers had her explain to them everything she knew how to do—everything her grandfather had taught her. She did so with knots in her stomach.

From there, Maria Hill set her up with a training schedule that she would adhere to for the next month or so. Every morning, Elena would join a trainer at the gym for physical exercise—typically running and weights training—and then for the rest of the morning she would work with various different trainers on her hand-to-hand skills, weaponry skills, and general fighting tactics. She would spend the remaining day after lunch working with other trainers and agents on espionage, reconnaissance, surveillance techniques, and more.

Clint Barton had come one morning to teach her about some specialty weapons. He seemed surprised when she could shoot a bow and arrow with near perfect accuracy. It wasn’t her weapon of choice, as it felt clunky and awkward in her hands, an impractical selection for combat, but her grandmother had taught her archery at the age of ten and Elena remembered every trick. The positioning of the feet and arms, the firm grip on the bow, anchoring her bow at the corner of her mouth.

Her grandmother had taught her perfection, and nothing less.

 “You’re good at that,” he had commented lightly, “You’ll put me out of a job.”

She shook her head, laughing it off. The bow wasn’t her weapon. It reminded her too much of the hot plains of Uruguay and her grandmother’s sharp tongue.

Natasha had come to work with her several times during the afternoon sessions, teaching her all of the secretive tricks she had up her sleeve. Elena thought Natasha was friendly enough, and she hadn’t mentioned that night with Steve once, which Elena appreciated more than anything.

She wondered briefly if she would ever work with Steve, and she figured it was very likely they would eventually be teamed up together. It was daunting for multiple reasons. Elena knew that she was nowhere near on his level and probably would never be, no matter how much S.H.I.E.L.D. whipped her into shape.

More than that, she didn’t know how she would face him after the night they spent together and the way he ignored her afterwards.

Elena spent her evenings trying to find an apartment, setting up times to view little crappy studios downtown. When Elena expressed the trouble she was having finding a place to Natasha, she recommended a place not too far from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

“Your salary is generous,” Natasha had told her knowingly, “You can definitely afford this place.”

Then she had showed Elena how to hack into foreign government databases.

The weekend came and Elena was relieved to get a break from training. She hadn’t hated it as much as she thought she would. It was nothing like her childhood, nothing like those years spent in the Uruguayan countryside, shooting quail in their backyard until she got it exactly right.

 _Abuelito’s little sharpshooter_.

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s trainers were relentless and tough, but they gave her praise when she did something right, and they were generally more relaxed—some more so than others. She tried to focus on that, those differences, those major departures from the training with her grandfather.

With the weekend arriving, she had more time to go apartment hunting. She had checked out the place Natasha recommended and was immediately sold. Natasha had said it was a _“great apartment at a great location”_ , and once Elena saw it, she had to agree.

A one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment, small, but big enough for her. The kitchen was nice, modern, with a walk-in shower and a huge tub. Situated on the sixth floor, she would have a pretty view of the city and the elevator actually worked, which couldn’t be said for the last place she lived in.

She would miss the Ritz-Carlton with its massages and the room service duck confit and the amazing wine list—all of which was paid for by S.H.I.E.L.D.—but she could live with a nice apartment to call home. Glad to finally have her own space to live in after far, far too long.

The landlord said she could move in in a week, once the lease was signed and approved. Elena could hardly wait to settle in, not only to the apartment, but into her new job, her new life.

It had barely been a week and Elena had already learned _so_ much. Unfortunately, she did not feel any more prepared to do the job.

Not that she had a choice in the matter. Fury had made that explicitly clear.

The file they had on her and her grandfather contained every bit of unsavory information Elena had always feared people would find out. Every crime her grandfather had committed, how he had started a new life in Uruguay, how he had groomed Elena’s mother right from the start, grooming Elena in exactly the same way once her mother had failed him.

There were pictures that Elena hadn’t seen in years and she had no idea how S.H.I.E.L.D. had managed to get them. Pictures of her grandfather with the men he had killed. The photo of her grandparents together on their wedding day, severe unsmiling faces pointed at the camera.

Beautiful photographs of her mother, ones that Elena had fawned over as a little girl. Her mother was a classic beauty, long glossy hair, high cheekbones, stunning in every way.

 _“Quiero ser hermosa como tú, Mama,”_ she had said, wide brown eyes staring up at her mother. Her mother had only given her a tight smile and turned away to light a cigarette.

One photo showed her mother at a party, sitting on a couch with some men, drinks all around them. There was a wild look in her eyes, face gaunt and pale. Elena only had to look at her face to know she was drugged up, but there was paraphernalia on the table in front of her that confirmed it. She had no idea where this picture came from—who took it, or when. It set her stomach rolling with rage, with sick.

Other photos in the folder showed Elena during her childhood. Memories burned into her mind. A photo of her at age six sitting at an old piano reminded her of how her grandmother would swat her fingers with a ruler until she got it right. The picture of when she was eleven, holding a dead rabbit alongside her grandfather’s rifle, stirred memories of being dragged by her hair into the dark forest when she didn’t want to go hunting.

 _“Keep the file,”_ Fury had said, unphased by Elena’s hands shaking as she sorted through the photos, _“We have plenty of copies.”_  

No, she had no choices at all. She never had, not once in her life.

Comply with S.H.I.E.L.D., let them train her to be their perfect little agent, and no one would ever know about any of the information in the manila folder. Don’t comply, and she’d never be able to get a job in foreign policy again.

_“Seems like a simple choice to me, Maldonado. But it’s up to you.”_

 

It was Monday morning that Steve saw her again for the first time in three weeks. He had spent the last week trying to lose himself in work, just like always. He spent the mornings training, the days working until he couldn’t think anymore, and then worked out for the rest of the night until he was tired enough to fall asleep.

He had been having more dreams about Bucky, almost every night. Some good, some bad. Just like always.

Natasha had mentioned the previous Thursday that she had seen Elena in training. That S.H.I.E.L.D. had officially taken her on as an agent that week.

Steve had ignored her comment. He had tried to tune her out when she mentioned how Elena’s training was going, how she was going to work with Elena the next week to train her on some different espionage stuff.

His only words had been, “Good. She needs it.”

Natasha had rolled her eyes at his gruff attitude, but thankfully she changed the subject. Steve could relax until the next time she brought up Elena, which had happened at least fifteen times in the past few weeks.

Now it was lunchtime on Monday and Natasha was dragging him to some Thai place down the block. She was chattering on about his party in a few days, the party that Steve had already stated he _didn’t want_ , but Tony and Bruce were coming down from New York just for him, so he had to go.

“Chill out, it’s gonna be a lowkey thing,” Natasha said, “Some barbeque, beers. There’s a good view of the fireworks from my balcony. It’ll be _fun_ , Rogers, you need some fun. When was the last time you had fun?”

Steve remembered the last time he had fun and it involved being between the thighs of a girl who he hadn’t seen in almost a month, who he hoped he would never see again but he knew that was wishful thinking. Now that she was an agent here, he was bound to see her again eventually.

Not that he cared. He tried every day to convince himself that he _didn’t_ care.

It was just that, in between hazy dreams of Bucky, he sometimes dreamt of her thighs and breasts and lips. Sweet, hot dreams that never failed to have him painfully hard when he woke up. Not to mention confused, frustrated, and angry, all on top of his arousal.

Steve obviously didn’t mention this though because Elena was Natasha’s new favorite subject and he didn’t need to give her any more ammunition. She had already lectured him one too many times about “ _Why don’t you give her a call?”_ and “ _Now that she lives in D.C., maybe you could take her on a date!_ ”

He’d stopped listening after the fiftieth time Natasha told him that he had resigned himself to being a boring old man. Natasha was sure that fucking Elena in the Caribbean Sea was the most fun he’s had in over seventy years, and certainly since he’d come out of the ice.

Steve refused to admit that she was probably right.

“Can we stop talking about the party?” Steve asked as they approached the elevator. He pushed the call button and continued, “Let’s just think of it as a Fourth of July party. Not my birthday. Please? Can that be your birthday present to me?”

They didn’t have to wait long for the elevator. “You’re such a killjoy,” Natasha whined as the bell rang. The doors slid open and Steve stopped in his tracks at the person inside.

Elena stood in one corner, hands on top of her head, eyes closed, panting heavily. She was wearing a sweat-soaked t-shirt with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo and tight black leggings that did _so many things_ for her hips and thighs. Her hair was up in a ponytail, sweaty wayward strands sticking to her face and neck.

Natasha was dragging him into the elevator, pulling him sideways to lean against the other side so they could face Elena. With her eyes closed and heavy panting, she hadn’t seemed to notice them.

So much for working on her spy skills…

“Talk to her,” Natasha hissed so lowly that he knew Elena wouldn’t be able to hear. His eyes were fixed on her, but he couldn’t make his mouth move.

Not that he really wanted to. He would be content with ignoring Elena forever if it was the less awkward choice.

It wasn’t that Steve didn’t like Elena, but he sort of regretted having sex with her. The sex was good—it was _great_ —but he wasn’t looking for a relationship, not really. And now he would have to see her at work and things would be awkward and tense between them.

Upon realizing that Steve wasn’t going to talk, Natasha took it upon herself to do so before the elevator reached Elena’s destination—tenth floor, where the training rooms were. She had 34 floors to say something that counted.

“Tough time in the gym?” Natasha asked finally, startling Elena. She looked at them, eyes wide, before relaxing.

“Agent Romanoff, Captain Rogers,” she breathed, “It’s nice to see you again.”

The formalities were forced—at least, he thought so by the way she looked at him tensely.

“I told you to call me Natasha. How’s training going?” Natasha asked.

Elena wiped some sweat off her forehead. Her nails were painted a warm, bright yellow. Steve wondered if that was allowed in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s dress code policy. “It’s going well. Just got my ass kicked by the rooftop training course.”

“That’s rough,” Natasha made a face, “Especially in this heat.”

Elena chuckled, “This is nothing compared to LA. It’s 104 there today.”

“It is more humid here, though,” Natasha pointed out.

“That’s true, it’s like being in a sauna.”

A silence fell over them after their awkward small talk about the weather. Steve would resist his urge to tell Natasha he told her so until after Elena got out of the elevator.

“Do you have plans on the 4th?”

Steve stiffened.

“No, why?”

“Well, it’s the Fourth of July. And Steve’s birthday. We’re throwing a little get-together for him, and you should come!”

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Elena said, her gaze flitting to Steve’s pained expression. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be! You should come. Can’t have you being alone on Fourth of July!”

“I—”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” Natasha insisted. Steve knew he really wouldn’t. After giving Elena the address, Natasha beamed and said, “Party starts at six. Dress casual.”

The elevator stopped at her floor and Elena stalled before saying, “Well, see you both then!” Natasha called out a goodbye to her as she hurried out of the elevator, but Steve stayed silent, seething.

As Elena made her way to the locker rooms, her thoughts closely mirrored Steve’s.

_What the fuck just happened?_

 

Steve didn’t speak to Natasha for the rest of the lunch hour.

Once he got home, he worked out at the gym down the street until he couldn’t feel his arms anymore. He couldn’t stop thinking about Elena, as much as he wanted to.

He had felt so calm with her in the ocean, touching her leisurely. He felt at peace.

But he knew it was a mistake. Elena could have just been a one-night-stand but now she’s working at S.H.I.E.L.D. and he didn’t really want to see her every day after knowing what her body looked like in the moonlight, after knowing what sounds she made when he ran his fingers over her skin.

Besides, how could he ever have any kind of relationship that would measure up to Bucky?

He resolved to ignore her, to not let her get to him.

That night, he dreamt of Bucky.

_He and Bucky laid together in their tent in Italy, surrounded by forest and trees. They had just been reunited, and after a lot of intense kissing and lazily jerking each other off, they were talking. About everything._

_They were naked, and Bucky stroked his side softly, tender just like he used to do when Steve was small. They had been laughing about a girl Bucky used to go out with, how crazy her father was when he threatened to kick Bucky’s ass one time._

_“The girls used to fall over at your feet, Buck,” Steve laughed, “What happened, pal?”_

_Bucky squeezed his side and Steve jerked when it tickled. Bucky said, “I’ve been overshadowed by some big dumb blond guy. Girls can’t see me when this looker’s in the way, all over the front page and all.”_

_Steve scoffed, a little uncomfortable that Bucky might have noticed all the attention he was getting from women lately. “Girls don’t look at me like that.”_

_Bucky rolled his eyes. “All brawns, no brain. That’s for sure.”_

_“Hey!”_

_“I mean it!” Bucky laughed at Steve’s pained expression. He wiggled closer to Steve, pushing their hot bodies against each other. “Hey, don’t clam up. If you got it on with a pretty dame before you got here, I don’t blame ya.”_

_Steve rolled his eyes. “Well I didn’t.”_

_“Maybe ya should’ve.”_

_“Huh?” he shook his head. “You’ve lost it, Buck.”_

_“I haven’t. If anyone deserves the time of day from a woman, it’s you.”_

_Steve looked at the ground, not wanting to meet Bucky’s eyes. “What about you?” Steve knew he loved Bucky, that Bucky loved him. He could never_ cheat _on Bucky—and that’s what he thought it might be. Cheating._

_“Listen, pal, we both know I had my fair share of ladies on my arm back in the day. You never said anything about that, so why would I have a problem if you did the same now?”_

_Steve had never thought much about that. Bucky was always going on dates, but Steve was never jealous, never thought anything of it. He knew nobody could ever match what he and Bucky shared. Bucky had assured him again and again that going out with girls—it was just for fun._

_He and Steve couldn’t go out like that, after all._

_They couldn’t go out for a romantic dinner, twirl each other around at the dance hall, steal kisses at the movie theater._

_Bucky held Steve’s cheek with one hand, forcing Steve to look at him. “Hey,” he whispered, voice serious now. “You deserve to be able to take a girl out and have some fun with her. I’ve done it before, and it’s never changed how I felt about you. Nothing would ever change between us, no matter what girl we’ve got on our arms.”_

_Steve nodded, smiled, leaned in to kiss him. Their lips met, hot, wet, over and over, until they both leaned back for air._

_“You need to ask Peggy out,” Bucky said thoughtfully, “If you don’t, I will.”_

_Steve had only laughed, pinned Bucky down, covered his mouth while he made him scream._

The sky outside was a dusky blue when Steve awoke. He basked in the moment, the phantom feeling of Bucky’s lips on his. For a minute in the haze of sleep, Steve couldn’t be sure if the memory had been real or not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is very much appreciated!


	9. The Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena goes to Steve’s birthday party/the Fourth of July Party. Steve isn't really mad that she came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another chapter! I hope you like it! Feedback is welcome and appreciated!

After Steve’s reaction to the invitation, Elena considered not going to the party, but on Wednesday she found herself getting dressed in a red short-sleeved sundress with little white flowers. She didn’t own anything else that was more festive for America’s Independence Day, so she paired it with little blue earrings and hoped that it was good enough.

Anxiety welled up in her stomach the closer it got to six that evening.

At six, Elena finally worked up the courage to go down to the front desk of the hotel and ask for a cab. The car ride was spent in silence, and with the amount of traffic around, it took almost forty minutes to reach an apartment complex on the other side of town. Elena wondered if the apartment belonged to either Steve or Natasha and felt uncomfortable at the prospect of being inside either of their homes.

When she buzzed at the entrance of the complex, Natasha’s voice came over the intercom.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Elena,” Elena replied unsurely.

“Come on up!”

The front door audibly unlocked and Elena went through, taking the elevator to one of the highest floors and then following the hallway down to the apartment number Natasha had written down for her. The door was unlocked and Elena entered, gripping her purse to her side.

The house was decorated in red, white, and blue, with a large banner across one wall reading “HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAP!!!”. It wasn’t packed, but there were definitely a lot of people, most of whom Elena had never met before. She recognized a few faces from the STRIKE team and saw Tony entertaining a small crowd in the living room.

Natasha called to Elena as she walked out of the kitchen. “Hey, Elena! I’m glad you could make it!”

“Thanks for inviting me.” Elena smiled as Natasha gave her a one-armed hug. She pushed a bottle of something into Elena’s hands.

“Here’s a beer, there are other drinks in the kitchen and we’ve got barbecue going on the balcony. It should be ready soon. Here, come with me and I’ll introduce you to a few people.”

She led Elena over to where Tony was chatting with Maria Hill. They introduced her to a few other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Elena joined their conversation, making small talk.

They asked about where she was from, what she used to do in foreign affairs, what she’s doing now. She explained to them how her training at S.H.I.E.L.D. was going, and she fell into an easy conversation about all of the different things she had learned already.

Tony brought up her light manipulation abilities, and Elena shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

“Please, I’ve seen you in action! What else can you do?”

“Nothing,” she answered with a laugh, “S.H.I.E.L.D. mentioned trying to see if I have any other abilities, but I’ve been able to control light for as long as I remember, and it’s really just that—I can turn the lights on, and I can turn them off.”

“There’s _got_ to be something else there,” Tony said, “I have no doubt that Banner and I could figure something out with you.”

She shook her head, “I have many doubts about that. Really, I’m just a human light switch. It’s not that useful.”

Tony scoffed, “Well maybe you’ll blow a fuse one day and find something else.”

Elena laughed and nodded, “That would be something, but I haven’t manifested any helpful abilities in the past twenty years. I’m not going to get my hopes up.”

Natasha said, “Well hey, you don’t need fancy superpowers to be a good S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. You seem to have plenty of other useful skills. Clint told me she shot a bow and arrow like a pro,” Natasha smirked. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Elena shrugged, “I learned archery as a kid.” She left it at that.

“I’m surprised at a lot of the stuff you know how to do,” Tony remarked, “For someone with barely four years of foreign affairs experience, you know your way around some serious guns.”

Her shoulders were getting more tense, her smile tighter, but nobody seemed to notice.

“She speaks Portuguese, French, and Italian, too,” Maria remarked knowingly.

Elena waved the comment away. “Uruguay was built by European colonists—I was bound to pick some of it up from the immigrants there.”

“And where’d you learn Kali knife fighting, huh? European immigrants teach you that?” Tony continued.

Elena couldn’t come up with a lie fast enough. She didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to explain her past without sounding like a lunatic, or at the very least garnering piteous stares from everyone at the party. Instead of answering, she deflected.

Elena laughed, hoping she didn’t sound as hysterical as she felt. “My drink’s out, I’m gonna grab another.”

Extracting herself from the group with a fake smile, she slipped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, closing her eyes to collect herself. After counting out three deep breaths, she was startled by a voice from the kitchen entrance.

“You made it.”

Her eyes flew open to see Steve, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

“Oh,” she said, her mind blank. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t see you when the party started. Thought you weren’t gonna come.”

Elena briefly wondered if he had been hoping she wouldn’t come. He probably was—he didn’t seem too pleased to see her. “Well, I’m here now. Oh—happy birthday!”

Steve’s cheeks reddened slightly and he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Elena wondered how he could be so cute and so inaccessible at the same time. He gave a short laugh, “Thanks. It wasn’t supposed to be my birthday party, it was supposed to be a small get-together for the Fourth.”

He was a little more than miffed that Natasha had still made it into some big birthday celebration. In all honesty, he had only wanted a quiet night in for his birthday. Maybe go out and watch the fireworks. But nothing like this, with a bunch of people who hardly knew him.

So he had spent most of the party thus far out on the balcony, grilling up chicken and hamburgers and a huge assortment of other food Natasha had provided. He had come into the kitchen to grab some of the chicken breasts marinating in the fridge when he saw Elena.

She was wearing a little festive red and white sundress with a hem that fell above the knees. Her hair was loose in waves down her shoulders, one strand in the front braided sloppily. All of his previous discomfort with Elena had vanished when he saw her, unexplainably.

Things seemed different when they were alone, slightly isolated in the kitchen. Bucky’s words rang in his head. _“If anyone deserves the time of day from a woman, it’s you.”_

Maybe he could work with that, let himself go, if only for his birthday. As Steve reached into the fridge and rummaged through it for the chicken, he made the executive decision to not ignore her.

He tried to strike up a conversation instead. “What are you doing in here? Hiding from the party?”

She huffed out a laugh, but nodded, much to his surprise. “Yeah, I kind of am.”

He had only been joking, but he noticed the tone of her voice. She seemed a little nervous, and he put that together with how he had seen her when he walked in—eyes closed, taking deep breaths, clutching the counter.

He looked at her over his shoulder, her eyes wide. “Why?” he asked tentatively, voice soft.

She looked like a deer in the headlights. Eventually, she shrugged. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable so he didn’t force the issue.

He pulled out the chicken breasts and a container of barbecue sauce, as well as two more beers. Once he closed the fridge, he faced her and handed her one of the bottles. “Well, I’m hiding out from the party on the balcony. Doin’ all the cooking. You’re welcome to join me, if you want.”

“Oh,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded and followed him outside.

Nobody was out there at the moment, everyone distracted inside by some story Tony was telling. A few abandoned beer bottles and cups littered the area. The air was warm and a little humid; the smell of charcoal and smoke filled her senses and created a thick, heady atmosphere between them.

Elena sat on one of the patio chairs, sinking into it and letting the atmosphere of the night engulf her. They didn’t speak, and soon the sounds of muted laugher from inside and the meat sizzling on the grill encompassed them in a comfortable lull.

Steve wanted to say something, to know what she was thinking, but another part of him felt that strange calm again by just being with her without having to say anything. Elena was thinking the same, a feeling of contentment washing over her from just relaxing on the balcony. So they stayed there in an easy, peaceful silence.

Steve watched the grill, sneaking more glances at Elena than he would admit in order to observe the serene expression on her face. Elena sat, sipping her drink, looking out at the view of the city as dusk fell over them. She spared several looks at Steve, too, whenever she thought he wasn’t looking, taking in his concentrated gaze as he cooked.

It wasn’t until Steve finished making the rest of the food did he speak. “Food’s ready. You can have first choice, you’ve earned it.”

She looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re the birthday boy, you should have first pick.”

“Well you sat out here with me and suffered while I grilled. Go ahead, I’ll make your plate.”

They shared a playful look as Elena stood up and approached the spread on the table. As she picked out a few things, Steve piled her plate much higher than she would have done herself, too used to serving himself super-soldier proportions. She giggled. “I’ll never be able to eat all this, you know.”

He handed her the plate with a sheepish smile, their fingers brushing over each other. Before he could respond, Natasha came out onto the balcony, Tony right behind her.

“Is the food done yet?” Natasha asked, “We need to eat before the fireworks start.”

“Who trusted Cap to grill? This stuff should’ve been finished an hour ago,” Tony complained.

“Everything’s ready now, so take your pick,” Steve replied, dishing up his own plate. As everyone ate, Tony engulfed him in conversation and he lost sight of Elena as she went to talk to some other agents.

He only found her again once everyone had crowded onto the balcony to watch the fireworks show. It was dark now, the city lights twinkling below, and Steve wormed his way through everyone to the side of the balcony, where Elena was leaning against the railing and looking down to the city. He leaned next to her, looking at the way the yellow lights reflected in her eyes.

A roll of thunder rumbled distantly and she looked up to the sky, then finally noticed Steve next to her. “Hey, birthday boy,” she said in a low voice, a little bit raspy that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine.

“Sounds like it might rain,” he said, matching his tone to hers.

“Will they cancel the fireworks?”

“Hope not. They should be starting the show soon.”

Steve was right; at his words, the first fireworks lit up the sky. They turned to look towards the show, so Steve was behind Elena now. She was so close, what with all the people outside, and he could feel the warmth of her body against him. A few strands of her long hair tickled at his forearms.

He could barely pay attention to the fireworks with her in front of him.

Once the show ended, she looked back at Steve and almost startled when she found him staring at her.

“What’d you think?” he asked, taking in the residual excitement she exuded from watching the show.

She smiled bashfully. “It was great! Your country definitely does fireworks well. How did you like it?”

“It was one of the best ones I’ve ever seen.”

 

After the fireworks, Natasha brought out a huge cake with 95 candles on it. While they ate cake, Natasha forced Steve to socialize with everyone else who came instead of hiding away or going to find Elena again.

Steve had more fun than he was expecting to; after all, everyone who came was from S.H.I.E.L.D. and they were all really nice, friendly people. He still felt like they only saw him as Captain America, though.

Once dessert was done, the party kept going.

Eventually, Natasha found Steve and Elena sitting together towards the end of the party, chatting about random things and drinking. They had wandered back into each other’s company a short while ago, long after the cake had been demolished. Maria had just left the party, leaving Elena alone on the sofa, and Steve had gone over to bring her another drink, and he had ended up staying to talk with her.

Steve didn’t know why he was still talking to Elena, he only knew that he felt comfortable with it, that he felt a sense of calm rush over him being around her. He didn’t know why he felt this way, but he did, and he wanted to hold onto it.

He didn’t realize that Elena felt the same way. The conversation came so easy. They spoke about their childhoods growing up in Brooklyn and Montevideo, respectively. Their experiences in France and Italy—Steve’s during the war and Elena’s during the trips her grandmother would take her on. The places Elena travelled when she was a child and the ones Steve had been to for work.

He didn’t pry about her family, about her past, content to keep the conversation on harmless topics that had nothing to do with combat or espionage. She liked that. She liked him.

And Natasha seemed to notice. She wandered up to the pair, sat close together on the sofa in order to hear each other over the sounds of the party—the party that had dwindled to only a few people without either of them realizing.

“Elena, do you have a ride back to your hotel?” Natasha asked, sitting down across from the pair.

“I was planning on getting a cab again,” Elena answered.

Natasha shook her head, “Oh, no, I can’t let you take a cab this late.” She turned to Steve, perking up, “Steve, can you drive her back?”

Steve sent a look to Natasha, knowing exactly what she was doing. However, he didn’t resist because he didn’t want Elena taking a cab back this late, either.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said.

Elena shook her head, “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Trust me, I’ll be fine. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’re staying at the Ritz-Carlton, right?” Natasha asked, and Steve didn’t question how she knew that. “That’s not too far out of Steve’s way.”

It was in fact, a little far out of Steve’s way, but he didn’t argue with Natasha.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that on your birthday,” Elena was saying, “Honestly, a cab—”

“I’ll take you home,” Steve said, the tone of his voice putting an end to the discussion, “It’s no trouble at all.”

From there, Steve said goodbye to the last of the lingerers at the party, declining Tony’s offer of an afterparty at one of the hottest clubs downtown, and left with Elena, guiding her down the hallway with a hand on her back. He kept it there as they rode the elevator down.

“I drove my motorcycle here,” Steve said, walking with her down the street to where he parked. “I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Do you have a helmet for me?” she asked, looking at him nervously.

He looked down at her, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I usually don’t use a helmet.”

She leveled him with a stare, saying, “That sounds pretty dangerous. Do you know about traumatic brain injuries?”

“I’ll drive safe.” He swung his leg over the bike to mount it. “Hop on.” Elena hesitated, looking over him unsurely. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

 “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before,” Elena said simply. She hoped her voice was steady but her heart was pounding in her chest. Although she had done plenty of dangerous life-threatening things in the past, riding a motorcycle had never been one of them. It terrified her more than it probably should have.

Steve grinned. “Just sit behind me and hold on tight.” He waited for her to get settled in the seat behind him. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around his middle. “You’re gonna have to hold on tighter than that, sweetheart.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before speeding off. Elena jolted behind him, squealing at the shock and clinging onto him tight. He chuckled at her reaction, revving the engine and speeding up in response.

Her small hands gripped onto the sides of his leather jacket and he could feel her pressed up against his back. He sped through the streets of D.C., swerving past cars and in between lanes, barely slowing down for turns.

When he took one sharp turn at a high speed, he heard her yelp, “Oh my God, I’m gonna die!”

Steve cracked up at that, enjoying her torment. He didn’t expect her to be squeamish about a motorcycle ride. She buried her face into his shoulder and she could feel him laughing at her.

“I know you’re laughing at me—stop that!” she yelled in his ear over the sound of the wind whipping past them. It only made him laugh harder. “Less laughing, more safe driving!”

They slowed for a moment at a traffic light and Steve turned his head to say, “I’d never let anything bad happen to you. Not on my bike, at least.”

“Yeah, I have trouble believing you over all the reckless driv—” she was cut off once the light turned green and Steve sped off once again. Elena’s stomach jolted and she buried her face back in his shoulder, waiting for the ride to be over, praying they didn’t crash.

When Steve felt the first few drops of rain hit his face fifteen minutes later, he sighed. He hoped the rain wouldn’t pick up too much before they got to the hotel. The sprinkles started coming down heavier, and Elena looked up, propping her chin on his shoulder.

“Is it safe to ride in the rain?” she asked him. Her breath tickled his ear.

“It’s fine, it’s not too heavy yet,” he answered. He could feel her tense up as the rain progressively got heavier, and he tried to soothe her, “You’re safe with me. Don’t worry!”

They were a few blocks away from the hotel when the rain started pouring down. Steve could barely see where he was driving and he was soaked to the bone even beneath his jacket. Water ran down his face and flattened his hair to his scalp. Behind him, Elena had her face buried so far into his back, he thought she might never come out. She was shaking, either with fear or with cold, and he was sure she wasn’t faring much better than he was.

Elena was trying not to hyperventilate as she swore she would never ride a motorcycle ever again.

Luckily, Steve managed to navigate them to the hotel in one piece. He pulled the bike up beneath the veranda of the front entrance, giving them reprieve from the rain.

Elena still clutched him tightly around the middle, even when Steve put his feet on the ground to stop the bike.

“You good?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.

She mumbled a noncommittal answer into his jacket.

He laughed, running his hands over her forearms soothingly before prying them away from his middle. “You’re fine. I got you here safe, didn’t I?”

She finally pulled back and dismounted the bike, keeping her hands on the seat until her legs were steadier. Then she looked at him, her face a mask of anger.

“We could have died.”

He smiled and reached up to wipe some wet strands of hair from her forehead. “No,” he said, “ _You_ could have died.” She huffed, trying to remain angry, but her smile betrayed her amusement. “But you didn’t. You’re very much alive.”

Their laughter was interrupted by a deafening crack of thunder and a flash of lightening, briefly illuminating the sky around them to show how heavily the rain was pouring. Elena looked at him and said, “I can’t let you drive back home in this. Why don’t you come up and we’ll have a drink until it stops raining a little?”

Steve knew it would have been best for him to say no, to not tempt himself any further with Elena, but he gave in to himself and his mounting desire for her. All the time he had spent with her that night had reawakened the flame in his chest for her. “Just let me park my bike. Be right back.”

It didn’t take long before he was jogging back to her, trying in vain to cover his head with his jacket. “Thanks for this, I probably could’ve made it back home but it would’ve been an awful ride.”

“Well I wouldn’t want your jacket to get ruined,” she said as they made their way inside. He held open the door for her and she went straight to the elevator, pushing the button for the tenth floor.

“This is a pretty nice hotel,” he remarked, looking around at the elaborate decorations, “S.H.I.E.L.D. set you up well.”

Elena laughed. “I’ve never stayed somewhere so fancy before. I feel really out of place, honestly.”

“Well you don’t look out of place at all.”

She gave him a weird look because she didn’t believe him, but the elevator doors opened before she could say anything. “My room’s right down this way,” she said, leading the way down the hall.

Steve risked a glance down, noting the way the wet fabric of her dress clung to her hips and ass. He didn’t realize when she stopped in front of a door, leading him to run into her.

“Sorry,” he muttered, cheeks flushing, hands going to her waist to steady her as she stumbled against the door.

She looked back at him over her shoulder with a smirk. “Like what you see, Captain?” It was supposed to be teasing, coquettish, just like every one of her jabs at him, but it was just enough to spur him onward, giving into the craving that had been lingering inside him for the past three weeks.

His grip on her waist tightened unconsciously and he found himself moving closer to her, his chest against her back. Their eyes locked, he moved his head down and to the side until their lips were barely touching, and whispered, “You have no idea, doll.”

“Why don’t you tell me, then?” she flirted, her eyes dancing with delight.

He smirked. “Why don’t I show you, instead?”


	10. The Hotel Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Elena go back to Elena's hotel room. Steve enjoys his birthday night with her more than either of them anticipated, and in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your comments on the last chapter!! It's so nice to know that there are people who enjoy this story :)
> 
> There's a little surprise at the end that I hope everyone enjoys! Thanks for reading!

With that, he had her turned around with her back pressed up against the door, his mouth on hers in a hot, feverish kiss, which she returned eagerly. Elena’s hands lifted to wrap around his neck, playing with the rain-wet hair at the base of his skull. It was not until they were rolling their hips against each other and Elena let out a broken whimper that Steve remembered himself—that they were in the middle of a hallway where anyone could walk by.

He pulled away, taking a moment to look at her kiss-swollen lips pouted in a little frown, before he plucked the room key she had clutched in her hands and quickly got the door open. Once they were inside with the door locked, he crowded her up against it again and lifted her so her legs wrapped around his waist.

She moaned into his mouth as they kissed like that for ages, sweet and sensual turning heavier and headier with each smack of their lips against the other’s. Steve kissed down her neck, still damp from the rain, and breathed in her perfume, earthy with a little floral fragrance, the wet smell of rain amplifying the scent.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned into her neck when Elena grabbed his ass, pulling his hips against hers to grind together. His hands wandered down to her thighs, feeling up the smooth, clammy skin and sliding beneath her dress. He loved the feeling of her soft skin as he cupped her ass, finding it bare in a skimpy pair of panties. With one hand, he gripped one of her ass cheeks, and with the other, he fisted the lace of her thong and pulled, not enough to rip it, although he wanted to, but enough to make Elena squirm at the friction on her cunt.

She gasped, panting hotly against his ear, then whispered, “Please, Steve, fuck—”

With that, he carried her over to the couch and sat down, positioning her on top of him. They resumed kissing heatedly and Elena wiggled around until she was straddling one of his thick thighs, which she proceeded to grind her hips on as she moaned against his lips.

Steve pulled the skirt of her dress away so the only thing separating her from the rough denim of his jeans was the thin fabric of her panties. Then he pulled away from her lips, taking in the way she threw her head back and moved her hips against him.

Her nipples were hard against the cloth of her dress and Steve pulled the neckline down to reveal a simple white bra, the cups so thin that the outline of her dark areolas showed through the fabric. He pulled the cups down, too, bared her breasts completely.

One hand guided her hips on his thigh while the other played with her sensitive nipples, causing her to cry out in pleasure, asking him for more.

Just the erotic look of her made him lose his inhibitions, giving into his baser instincts to be as filthy as possible—just like things with Bucky had been, at one point.

“Oh, sweetheart, look at you,” he groaned, his voice raspy and low. “Grindin’ on my thigh, workin’ your pussy against me like that. So hot for it you just can’t help yourself, can you?”

She whimpered at his dirty talk—she fucking _loved_ it. Steve pinched her nipple hard, and she keened and bit her lip, working her hips even faster on him.

He reached down between her legs and hooked one finger into the crotch of her thong, pulling it to the side until her pussy was bare against his jeans. The sounds she made at the feeling of this new friction were so delicious, Steve had to kiss her to swallow them all up.

When she pulled away with a gasp, Steve’s mouth travelled down her neck, biting marks into her clavicles, before dropping to her nipples. One of her hands buried in his hair and held him there as he bit at her sensitive buds, soothing the sharp bites with his tongue and then pulling it into his mouth to suck at them. He sucked particularly harshly, finding that she squirmed and moaned the most when he sucked as much of her breast as possible into his mouth.

Her dark nipples and small breasts were so sensitive and he loved the reactions he pulled from her when he worshipped them with his mouth. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he could get her to come just from sucking on her tits.

He could feel both her thighs clenching tight around his now, a telltale sign of her impending orgasm. Faintly, he could feel the wet spot on his thigh where she was grinding grow, the hot heat of her moisture against his skin.

“I can feel how wet you are,” he groaned into the tissue of her breast. He bit a mark into the skin and then said, “You’re gonna soak the leg of my jeans at this rate. You wanna do that, sweetheart? Gonna stain my jeans with your cunt?”

“God,” she gasped, her voice growing tense and high-pitched as she approached the edge.

He pulled her by the neck into a painful kiss, then buried a hand in her long hair and held her head back from him so he could look at her. Her eyes were shut tight and her mouth swollen, open as she breathed heavily. Her cheeks flushed bright red and a sheen of moisture from the sweat and the rain covered her face.

Under her dress, his other hand clutched her ass in a grip so tight that she’d have bruises of the imprints of his fingertips. He guided her hips on his thigh, helping her grind down hard against him.

“You’re ridin’ my thigh real good, aren’t you? I want you to come like this, just like this. Can you do that for me, hmm?”

When she didn’t answer him, he tightened his grip and she moaned at the pull on her scalp and her ass. Steve clenched his jaw and drew his hand back from her ass, swatting at her bare cheek. “Answer me, Elena.”

“God, yes,” she gasped, her body shivering, “Yes, Steve, _fuck_ —”

He hit her again, a little harder, gauging her reaction. When she bit her lip at the sting and hissed in pleasure, begging him again with little pleads and whimpers, he grinned and leered at her, groaning, “Good, baby, so good for me.” She shook at the praise.

He spanked her ass again, a few more times until Elena was shuddering, thighs gripping his own so tight it almost hurt. His leg was actually starting to fall asleep but he couldn’t stop now, not with how the girl on his lap was trembling, her hips stuttering, whimpering into the air between them.

“Come for me, Elena.” As he spoke she threw her head back and gasped, and he couldn’t help himself when his fingers dove between her ass cheeks and found her slick cunt, pushing a finger up into her hole and feeling her clench in orgasm. It spurred her on, if anything, and he pumped in and out as her orgasm swept through her. She rode his hand, still grinding her clit against his thigh, and finally slumped down, muscles lax as her pussy spasmed and pulsed on his hand.

He petted her hair gently with one hand and kept pumping his finger in her until she was shoving his hand away. Before he could say anything, she was climbing off of his lap and dropping to her knees, fingers shaking as her hands tried to unbutton his jeans.

After watching her struggle for a moment, he stilled her hands, gazing at her with a smirk. She looked up at him, eyes glazed over. He savored the view for a moment, her on her knees in between his legs, before quirking a brow. “Something you want?” he challenged her.

“Wanna taste you,” she said breathlessly. He’d let her, eventually, but not before playing with her a little more.

“Do you, now?” He kept her hands still with a light grip on her wrists.

She huffed a little, rolled her eyes. “It’s your birthday, Steve, let me do this for you.”

“I haven’t even tasted you yet,” he said. He brought his finger that had been in her pussy earlier up to his mouth, sucking and licking it until it was clean, eyes locked with hers the entire time. “Delicious, sweetheart. I want more.”

She tilted her head, a glint in her eyes, “You can have dessert later. C’mon, _Captain_ , let me treat you.”

At the sound of his title on her lips, his eyes darkened, lips pressed in a thin line. She squirmed beneath his intense gaze, but her lips stayed upturned, smug, and her eyes still challenged him.

He laid back and motioned for her to continue. She eagerly unbuckled his belt and shimmied them down enough for his cock to be released.

It was her first time seeing his penis, considering the last time was at night and underwater. He was thick and perfectly long, cut and flushed a lovely rosy pink, the head darker red and glistening with precum.

All she could think was _wow_.

Steve chuckled above her, and Elena realized she must have said that out loud. Her cheeks flushed, and to take control of the situation, she reached out and wrapped one of her small hands around him. His skin was so heated, and her fingers didn’t meet, just barely.

“You gonna stare at it or are you gonna suck it?” he asked.

“I’m just admiring it,” she answered, “It’s a work of art.”

Steve huffed a laugh. The serum had done a lot of things for him, making his body practically perfect in _so many_ ways.

“I’m tempted to take a picture of it but I bet having a nude of Captain America would make me a threat to national security.”

Steve considered shoving his cock down her throat just to shut her smart mouth up, but he settled for nudging the back of her head lightly with his hand until she relented.

Finally, she leaned in and giving a slow lick from the root of his cock to the tip, then dipping her tongue in the precum there. Then she took his head into her mouth and sucked lightly, swirling her tongue around, savoring the taste of him, earthy and salty, hot on her tongue.

Before taking him into her mouth, she pulled back and run her tongue up his cock, laving her tongue against the skin and getting him wet and slick with her saliva. She pumped him a few times to spread it around, twisting her hand and making him groan.

His hands were clasped on his thighs, not wanting to overpower her yet. When she engulfed the head of his cock in her mouth again and bobbed her head, taking him deeper each time, he had to dig his nails into his palms to not take her head in his grasp and fuck her mouth right there.

Elena continued to suck him for some time, using her hand on the part she couldn’t reach with her mouth, which was more than Steve preferred. In Elena’s defense, his cock was huge and she never said she was good at this.

When she lowered her head to the point that she gagged, the feeling of her throat closing on him made him groan, his hips bucking up, chasing the warmth of her mouth as she pulled off. She took a few deep breaths before lowering herself again, taking in more than she had before in an attempt to get another reaction like that out of him.

She gagged again and one of Steve’s hands went into her hair, pushing her down lightly on his cock. He didn’t exert too much pressure—she could throw him off if she wanted to. Instead, she relented, allowing him to guide her head down as far as he wanted. She tried to breathe through her nose to calm her gag reflex. When he was so deep in her throat that she could no longer breathe, she waited a few moments, as long as she could take, before raising her head and he let her come up for air.

Looking up at him with glazed eyes, a few tears spilled down her face, lips wet and swollen as she caught her breath. He caressed her cheek with his hand, murmuring, “You take my cock so well, sweetheart.” He thumbed over her lips and she sucked his thumb into her mouth, taking comfort in the action as her breaths slowed.

Although she wasn’t a pro at blowjobs, she enjoyed the feeling of going down as far as she could, the heavy weight of his hand on the back of her head. It turned her on, knowing he could take control of her any time he wanted but allowed her the reins for now. Her wetness was dripping down her thighs, which she rubbed together in hope for some kind of friction.

Steve took in the action, the way she squirmed, her hard nipples, her flushed cheeks and chest. He smirked, satisfaction coming over him. “You like sucking my cock, sweetheart? Does it make you wet?”

She nodded and he leaned forward, bringing his hand between her legs. He could have come just feeling how slick and slippery her pussy was. “You’re dripping for me, darlin’,” he whispered to her like it was a secret.

His eyes flickered to her mouth as she licked her lips. “I want to taste your come, Captain,” she said, her voice thick and raspy.

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning back again, “I can see that. C’mere.”

He pushed her head to bring her mouth back to his erection and she took him between her lips. With his grip on her hair, Steve guided her head up and down his shaft at a speed that felt good. She was taking it well, only gagging a little bit, spit covering her lips and dripping down his length. Everything was so wet, so hot, and Steve was trying really hard to restrain himself.

Still, this would do. The way she was working her tongue over his shaft and tip, sucking on him and letting her throat take him in, it was pushing him to the edge quicker than he’d like to admit. It had been a long time since he’d gotten head this good—not since the last century.

Her hand came up between his legs, her knuckles running over the smooth skin of his balls before cupping them and rolling them delicately in her hand. He wondered briefly if he should come in her mouth or pull out and come on her chest, but just the thought of her covered in his spend had him shooting off.

“God—I‘m coming,” he groaned, and she doubled down her efforts to suck every part of him into her mouth. “Oh yeah, just like that,” he said, teeth gritted, as he came down her throat.

When he was finished, he finally relaxed his grip on her head and she eagerly came off his cock for air. Her face had gone red from the exertion and she was gasping, panting, trying to catch her breath.

Steve stroked her hair and her cheek until she settled down, looking down at her reverently, wondering how this girl gets him so hot and bothered when they don’t even have their clothes off yet.

It was that thought that had him scooping her up in his arms and charging into the bedroom. She squealed as he tossed her onto the bed, and suddenly he was on top of her, kissing the taste of himself out of her mouth as his hands worked at getting her dress off. Their clothes and hair were still wet from the rain, their skin barely dry, goosebumps raised all over her flesh from the cold of the hotel room.

Once her dress was off, her bra and panties followed, tossed forgotten in a corner of the hotel room, all he could see was her skin, every flaw and every mark.

He felt a tug in his chest when he looked at her, her body, the way she stared at him with smoldering eyes. He didn’t allow himself to kiss every inch of her skin like he yearned to do.

Instead, he dove between her thighs.

 

Steve ate her out until she screamed and then fucked her sweet little body, loose and pliant from her orgasm(s), until they both had had enough.

Elena was showering now, having rejected his offer to join her because even though he could keep going and going with his super-soldier stamina, she was only a normal human.

Steve was laying in the bed, considering the night. It was the best birthday he had had in some time, at least since the war, since he lost Bucky.

Briefly, he thought about Bucky, and he mulled over the flash of guilt that tore through him, the same guilt that plagued him every time he fucked somebody since he lost Bucky—the small handful of people, at least. He loved Bucky with his entire soul, and it hurt so much that he lost him, and he knew he would never find the same connection with anyone else. But, God, the loneliness ate him up sometimes, and since he had fucked Elena the first time, it seemed to ease off a little bit. This time it seemed to ease a little more.

Of course, he knew he couldn’t commit to her, not like he could to Bucky, but he couldn’t deny the intimate connection they had, or the way she made him feel more normal than he had since he came out of the ice. When he was touching her, it was as if everything else didn’t matter, only her sweet little reactions, her body’s responses.

He craved her again.

He slipped into the shower behind her silently as she rinsed her face under the water. When he slipped his hands onto her waist, she jumped and gasped, choking on some water in the process.

He laughed as she coughed and glared at him.

“I told you no already,” she scolded him, pushing his hands away from her ass, but the smile on her face betrayed her. “I need at least thirty minutes and a snack. And a leg massage—I feel like they might give out any minute.”

“I can work with that. But you know I’d never let you fall,” he grinned, moving forward and pressing himself against her.

“Back off, Captain,” she splashed water in his face.

“Hey, I’m just trying to get under the water,” he said, crowding her more so the stream sprayed on his face. “I need a shower, too, you know, and you were taking way too long in here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh, yeah, sure.”

“Here, I’ll help you wash,” he said, taking the loofah that she was running over her shoulders.

“Steve,” she said in a weak protest, the words dying on her lips as he ran the sponge across her back.

“I can get all the places you can’t reach,” he said, voice low in her ear. After washing her back, arms, and front, spending extra time on her sensitive breasts and hardening nipples, he knelt down and ran the loofah over her legs, working from her ankles up to her inner thighs. He avoided her pussy for now, running the sponge over her hips and ass instead.

He directed her body, once again pliant to his touch, back under the stream and ran his hands over her body, washing away the suds from every inch of her. Once they were gone, he was kneeling again, still running his hands over her legs, hips, and ass.

She exhaled sharply when his fingers dipped between her thighs, nudging her gently to spread open for him.

“Steve,” she whined, one hand clutching at his shoulder, the other in his hair. “I’m gonna fall.”

He chuckled at her; how silly she was being. As if he would ever let her fall. He placed a few featherlike kisses between her thighs and a kiss right on her clit, nothing more, before he stood up and grinned.

“Go get dried off, I’ll be right out.”

She grumbled something under her breath about Steve being a tease before side-stepping him and climbing out of the shower with a little stumble. As she bent over to wrap her wet hair in a towel, Steve gave her a light smack on the ass. “Hey!” she squealed, trying to sound indignant but the look in her eyes was thrilled more than anything.

He only laughed and dipped his head under the running water. As he quickly scrubbed his hair and body, he realized he had laughed more with Elena tonight than he had in a long time.

Once he climbed out of the shower and dried off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and found Elena sitting on the bed using the hotel phone to order room service.

“Do you want a burger?” she asked him, thumbing through the room service menu. Steve nodded, only just realizing how hungry he was. “Two grilled angus burgers… no tomato on one of those… Okay… Great, thank you.” When she hung up the phone, she looked at him with wide eyes. “These are the most expensive burgers I’ve ever seen!”

He smiled at her outrage before asking, “How long is it gonna take?”

“They said thirty minutes.”

He clapped his hands together, “Perfect, just enough time for that leg massage.”

Elena hid a smile and said, “Oh, you don’t have to do that—don’t worry about me.”

Steve scoffed. “Trust me, sweetheart, it’s no burden to me. You got lotion?”

She nodded. “in the bathroom. Blue bottle.”

She stood to discard her towel and went to her suitcase to pull on some more comfortable clothing. Steve would have to just wear the towel—his clothes were still wet from the rain, hanging up to dry.

After grabbing the bottle of lavender and chamomile scented lotion, he walked back in the room to see Elena holding a pair of tiny cloth shorts.

“Hey, if I don’t have clothes to wear, I don’t think it’s fair for you to have any on, either,” he said teasingly, approaching her and plucking the shorts from her hands. He tossed them back into her suitcase.

She looked at him with a glint in her eye. “If both of us are naked, who’s going to answer the door for room service?”

“Enough of that smart mouth. Get on the bed,” he gently nudged her forwards, blocking her from getting any clothes out of her suitcase. She complied without another complaint, lying in the middle of the bed on her stomach.

Steve got right to it. He massaged the sweet-smelling lotion into the flesh of her legs, kneading the skin starting from her ankles, working in smooth motions up her calves and digging his fingers into the soft, supple meat of her thighs. He ate up the little sighs and whimpers, taking note when he hit a particularly sensitive spot—the back of her ankles, the crevice behind her knees, her inner thighs. He worked her muscles thoroughly, not leaving one spot of her legs untouched.

When he stroked his hands up the sides of her thighs, massaging deep into her hips and ass, he realized how red her backside was from the multiple times he spanked her throughout the night. She hadn’t complained at any time—in fact, the slaps to her ass and thighs seemed only to embolden her. Still, he rubbed lotion onto the marks tenderly, asking her if they hurt.

“No,” she answered breathily, “Feels fine. I like it when you spank me, Captain.”

He groaned, “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

She answered with a teasing giggle, and he shut her up by brushing his fingers down her ass and into the crevice between her thighs. At that, she let out a little moan, and he took it upon himself to tease her until she was panting, lightly running his fingers in between her legs, over her ass, along the crease where her ass met her thighs.

“Turn over,” he finally commanded her with a light smack to her hip. She did, and he took in the sight of her flushed cheeks and pert nipples.

He repeated the massage, going from her ankles, up her shins, and making sure to focus on the aching muscles of her thighs until she was groaning in pleasure. He teased her again, running his fingers along her pelvis, through the trimmed pubic hair on her mons, dipping down just enough to catch her clit in a featherlight touch.

She whimpered at this, but his movements stilled at a knock on the door. “Room service!” the delivery man called.

“You’ll have to get it,” Steve said, gesturing to his poorly-concealed erection underneath his towel. Elena gave him an amused look. She scampered up, stumbled a bit when her feet hit the ground. Steve steadied her with his hands on her hips, pleased at how clumsy she seemed to get whenever he so much as touched her.

Pulling on a long grey silk robe, Elena went and got the door. Once the food had been set down and the delivery man left, Steve wandered into the other room.

“Looks like you’ve got a little predicament there,” Elena remarked, gesturing to his erection. Steve laughed and shrugged, sitting opposite her at the table. He pulled the covers off of the plates of food, revealing a fancy-looking burger with far too many garnishes. “Want me to help you out?”

“You need rest and food, remember?” he shot back at her, smirking.

She giggled. “Suit yourself. This burger better be worth thirty bucks.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is paying for it anyways,” Steve said, taking the burger and biting into it. He’d had better for less expensive, and he told her as much.

As they ate, they kept conversation light, speaking about the best burgers they’ve had, the best places Elena has found to eat in Los Angeles, the places Steve has tried in D.C., the many restaurants he misses from Brooklyn, ones that shut down long ago.

He stops himself from mentioning how he and Bucky would save up every penny to get a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, and even then, he thought it was better homemade from Bucky’s ma.

He asks her about the food from Uruguay to distract himself from thoughts of Bucky and Brooklyn and the life he once knew. She indulges him with explanations of how Uruguayan cuisine is a big melting pot of mainly European food, all French and Spanish and Italian influences. How she hasn’t found any restaurant serving authentic Uruguay cuisine, but there are a couple Argentinian restaurants in L.A. and that’s close enough, she says with a roll of her eyes.

Steve finds it easy to talk to her. To get to know her. He finds himself enjoying her company just as much as he enjoys touching her, the calming feeling the same either way. He’s surprised to find that he no longer loathes the little snarky comments that come out of her mouth, and although her sass makes him roll his eyes, he plays along with it, teasing her— _flirting_ with her, shamelessly. When he’s not on duty, not under the influence of the shield, the severe façade of Captain America, he finds it easy to relax with her.

He wonders how things will change when they work together on missions again. He likes this easygoing conversation they have now, together, secluded in this hotel room, and Steve doesn’t exactly want it to end.

 

A few miles away, the Asset returned to the bank Hydra used as their base. Fireworks rang out in the distance, just like they had an hour prior. The deafening blasts intermingled with the sound of his gun going off, camouflaging the noise.

The man he killed that night was faceless, nameless. The Asset didn’t need to know why he killed him, only that he needed to be killed. It was a successful mission, just like every mission the Asset was ever put on.

His handlers shoved him back into the cryochamber, grumbling to each other about going to a bar afterwards to celebrate the Fourth of July.

The Asset didn’t know why there were fireworks going off all over Washington D.C. that night. He didn’t realize it was Independence Day.

However, the sight of the colorful lights earlier had sparked something in him—something like a memory, but not quite fully formed. He didn’t remember when he had experienced this, who he had been with, or if the images flitting through his mind were even real.

He remembered watching a colorful light show, the explosions popping off in the air. The taste of a hot dog. The flickering flames of candles on a cake. The feeling of excitement, contentment, of being home. Happiness.

The Asset held on to that feeling as he settled back into the pod. As his handlers closed the chamber and programmed the pod to freeze him again, he hoped he would still remember it the next time he came out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a little bit of Bucky at the end but probably not the Bucky you were expecting. Because this story follows the events of the MCU closely (until CA:CW), Bucky won't REALLY be in it in very much capacity until after the events of TWS. But all of that is coming up!


	11. The Upstairs Neighbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds out Elena moved in upstairs, and he's not sure how to feel about that.

The Saturday after that, Elena signed the lease and finally moved out of the hotel and into her own apartment.

Earlier that week she had arranged for her belongings to be shipped from Los Angeles to D.C. That was the easy part—all of her stuff was already packed and had been sitting in a storage unit off the 405 for the better part of the last six months, so all the movers had to do was pack everything into a truck. Once they arrived on Saturday, they spent the morning unloading and arranging her furniture in her apartment as she directed them.

After that, Elena looked around at the mountains of boxes and decided to take a nap for the rest of the day. It had been a long week and she figured she deserved it.

She dreamt of Steve’s tongue on her body, the way he gripped her hips and smacked her ass, the sweet, dirty little things he whispered in her ear.

After waking up with an uncomfortable wetness between her legs, Elena opted to take a scalding shower and take care of the problem. As she touched herself, she definitely 100% did not think about how Steve ate her pussy enthusiastically until her thighs gave out.

Afterwards, she collapsed on her bed, her hair soaking the mattress below her. She hadn’t even bothered to put on her sheets yet—she had been so tired earlier.

She had a problem, Elena knew this. Steve Rogers was her problem.

The thing was, she had been content to never have sex with him again, to ignore their secret night in Costa Rica forever, if that’s how Steve wanted it. It had definitely hurt when he ignored her after their night in the ocean, but she could handle a little rejection. Some tequila shots and a rebound with a nice body, and she’d be over it.

But something seemed to change on the night of his birthday. He gave her the time of day. They had sat in silence together on the balcony, something easy and peaceful in their quiet. During the fireworks, she had been able to feel his eyes on her the whole time, his body heat radiating onto her back. Then they had sat together and talked, light flirting and meaningless conversation, until the end of the party when he drove her back.

When she went to the party, she hadn’t expected to be dicked down until she couldn’t walk by the end of the night. But that _had_ happened, and Steve had a magic dick and made her come at least four times that night.

And, Jesus Christ, she _loved_ it. She couldn’t get enough of it. After Steve’s sensual little massage and the room service, Elena practically had to jump him to get his mouth back on her. He had teased her through it— _wasn’t she too tired, wasn’t she too sore?_ But no, she wasn’t, and she needed his cock. _Needed it_.

She found it easy to talk to him, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve was gone the morning after their night in the hotel, and he hadn’t left a phone number or said goodbye at all. Elena hadn’t seen him since.

Elena was content not to get attached. They flirted, they bantered over food, ultimately falling into bed again and again, but Steve didn’t really let her in, and she wasn’t exactly planning on doing so either.

She figured it was for the best. He didn’t need to know about her, about her reasons for being at S.H.I.E.L.D. They would probably work together eventually once she finished her training, and they didn’t need a romantic relationship to complicate things.

But she wasn’t sure if she was ready to part with the sex. It was just too good to pass up.

He was sure as hell not as innocent as he looked, and that surprised her more than anything. Every move he made in bed was calculated, confident, and made her pussy clench. Suddenly he was making her beg for it, he was spanking her, he was shoving her down his cock until she couldn’t breathe. Not to mention his sinful mouth—a mouth that would make the entirety of America blush if they knew the things he said to her.

And now she was wet again, her thighs clenching together rhythmically to relieve some of the pressure.

_Damn it, what box were her vibrators in again?_

 

Elena trained hard for two weeks, but she hadn’t seen Steve or Natasha since. Clint had come to train with her one day, just practicing a few tips and tricks he showed her the previous week. He mentioned they were on a mission, but he couldn’t say where.

She decided to put Steve out of her mind and focus on her training.

Her trainers were saying she would soon be ready to go out into the field. She had astronomically improved in her combat skills and even at recon and surveillance.

Elena was getting better at keeping her cool during espionage. They took her out into the city for little tests, having her trail people, record their activities, listen into their conversations. Sometimes they were targets planted by S.H.I.E.L.D., other agents helping to train her, talking about fake weapons deals and other fabricated intel. Sometimes they had her trail strangers, pedestrians, random people just living their boring lives.

It was paying off. She no longer nervously stuttered and stumbled about during recon, and she was getting to be creative in her surveillance and communication methods.

Although it wasn’t really that hard, Elena had weird anxieties that popped up at bad times. That had been her downfall when dealing with El Orden, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was helping to train that out of her.

They had also tried to train her more with her powers, or her “photon manipulation abilities”, as they called it. Trying to unlock secret, more useful powers. Maybe laser shooting powers, they had suggested, or the creation of illusions by manipulating light.

She had been able to turn the lights on and off for as long as she could remember. At night, when she got scared as a child, she was her own nightlight. There had never been anything else, though.

As a result, she was finding it incredibly difficult to find other abilities. She hadn’t expected to, because she wasn’t some video game character who could level up and unlock mystical new powers. But her trainers seemed intent that she could probably do more if she put her mind to it. Unfortunately, she was at a loss.

The most she had ever been able to do was give people burns on their sclera—but never their skin. One of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s scientists claimed that was because the retina was much more delicate than skin. The intensity of her light source could only burn the most fragile of areas—just like staring at the sun for too long.

Maybe she could give enemies a sunburn with prolonged exposure, if she really tried.

On the third day of this, she was fed up. She snapped at her trainer, asking if they could please train her on something useful.

As a result, the next few days until the weekend were spent training harder than ever. They tested all of her new skills and gave her advanced training drills and paired her with some of the most difficult trainers they had, including Natasha now that she was back from whatever mission she had been sent on.

Unfortunately, Natasha being back meant that Steve was back, too. Elena’s luck seemed to be on a downward turn because she somehow managed to run into him three times over the next three days.

The first time was in the lobby on Wednesday evening, the end of the work day. He was entering the building as she was exiting, intent on going to the gym down the street from her apartment for a hot yoga session that would ease her muscles after the rigorous day she had.

They ran into each other at the door, not even noticing each other until they were almost colliding.

“Steve!” she tried to say, shocked, but he had given her a tight smile and brushed past her without another word.

 _Well okay, then_.

Elena tried not to let it get to her.

The next day, they ran into each other outside the locker rooms of the training area. She had just finished an underwater combat training session at the pool and as a result, she was wearing a one-piece swimsuit issued to her by S.H.I.E.L.D.—not the most flattering swimwear, but it could have been worse.

Steve himself was soaked with sweat. He hadn’t seen her at first—he had the hem of his tight t-shirt pulled up to wipe away sweat from his brow, revealing his glistening abs. Elena was stuck in her tracks, staring at him in shock, when he finally lowered the shirt and saw her.

Briefly, his gaze lingered over her, dragging across her body, her legs, her hair dripping onto the tile floor below them. Maybe he saw her surprised expression and flushed face, because he _smirked_ at her. In truth, when he saw her like that, fresh from the pool, it brought back involuntary memories of her drenched with seawater, with rainwater, drenched for him.

“Seems like every time I see you, you’re dripping wet.”

Her jaw dropped and he had the good grace to blush at his own forwardness. He stumbled through an awkward apology before darting into the men’s locker room, where he proceeded to berate himself on that tactless comment.

The last time he had seen her—aside from their run-in the day before when he was in a rush to meet with Fury—had been at the hotel. He remembered he had fucked her from behind and they fell asleep together, but he had been woken up a few hours later by a phone call about an emergent situation in Taiwan, where he had been for the last two weeks. He hadn’t meant to leave without a goodbye, but now he couldn’t imagine what she probably thought of him.

Especially after that lewd comment.

He’d have to find a way to apologize.

Elena didn’t know it, but the next time Steve saw her was later that evening. She had just finished a yoga class and was leaving to walk back to her apartment, which was just down the road.

Steve, on the other hand, had just gotten home and was planning on going to the gym himself to punch his frustrations away.

The mission in Taiwan had technically been a success, but there was a lot of red tape around it and it irritated him to no end. On top of that, he was feeling more and more wound up since he had seen Elena by the locker rooms earlier.

As he was walking down the street to the gym, just down the road, he saw her. She had her nose stuck in her phone and a yoga mat slung over her shoulder, and she had clearly just exited the gym. His gym.

He was stopped in his tracks, wondering why she went to the same gym as he did and where she was going now, especially when she crossed the street and made a beeline directly for his apartment building. He watched her pull out a key and let herself into the building, and she still hadn’t seen him.

Steve brought it up to Natasha the next day. Natasha sent him a coy smirk and tilted her head at him, “That’s a funny coincidence.”

“Coincidence, huh?”

A shrug, nonchalant, unbothered. “She mentioned she was having trouble finding a place to live, so I recommended the good places I know. Your apartment building is really nice.”

“Hmph.”

“I think she said she was on the sixth floor. 6A, if you’re wondering.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

Next time Elena saw him was that afternoon. Steve had just finished his mission report and had been called to a meeting in Fury’s office, presumably about their next mission.

She entered the elevator just as the door had been closing, glancing at Steve with a slightly panicked expression. Her finger hovered over the elevator buttons, over the same floor he had chosen, before falling back to her side when she found it already lit up.

 “Captain Rogers,” she greeted him formally.

“Agent Maldonado.” A moment of awkward silence.

He frowned. Their silence wasn’t this awkward before—when they were sitting together on the balcony, the night of his birthday. It hadn’t been tense or weird between them; it had been peaceful and comfortable. He wondered why he didn’t feel this way with her now.

“Listen, I’m sorry about—” he started to say, but stopped when the elevator paused on one floor and the doors opened. Several agents in suits stepped in, greeting him cordially, and that shut him right up for the rest of their elevator ride.

When she realized he had followed her out of the elevator and down the path to Fury’s office, she looked back at him, a small frown on her face, before turning back to the front, her shoulders straighter, standing stiffer.

He entered Fury’s office right behind her, where Natasha and Rumlow had already arrived.

The meeting was quick—informing the group about a mission they would go on in several weeks. It would be Elena’s first mission and in the coming weeks, they would work as a group to prepare and strategize. They would start Monday morning.

After the meeting was over, Fury called for Natasha and Steve to stay behind. Steve was thankful because it meant he wouldn’t have to ride back down the elevator with Elena. He said a few quick words about their last mission and thanked Steve for completing the mission report so promptly.

“Take off early today,” he said, “Go relax and have some fun. Good job these past few weeks.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Natasha prodded him as they left together, “Go have some _fun_.”

Instead of _having fun_ , Steve went home and worked out for three hours straight. As he beat the punching bag rhythmically, pulling his punches so he didn’t burst it, he thought about the Elena situation.

She lived in his building now and they would be working together for the foreseeable future on this mission. It was getting harder and harder to avoid her.

Why he felt such a tension between them, he couldn’t say. It was like when they were fighting El Orden, when something about her just made him squirm. He was undeniably attracted to her, based on the recurring dreams he had about being between her thighs. Maybe that was it—their sexual tension was too strong to overcome.

When he was alone with her, outside of work, he had the freedom to act on it, to flirt with her and touch her at his will. He wasn’t the Captain, he didn’t have S.H.I.E.L.D. relying on him, the whole of the world on his shoulders. She allowed him to relax a little, be himself.

At work, in the stifling elevator and in the conference room or in Fury’s office, he was under the influence of the star on his shield and uniform. He had to be the strong, stoic leader, clearheaded, unaffected by emotions. He couldn’t let Elena affect him, so he closed himself off to her, acted like nothing had happened between them.

Things did happen, though, and now he knew the noises she made and how her eyebrows scrunched together when she came. His feelings and attraction were still there, underneath the surface. Steve thought that was what made it awkward between them. Knowing there was something between them that they can’t speak about, not at work at least.

 

After he showered, he got ready to go get some takeout. He didn’t know how it happened, but he got in the elevator and found himself pressing the button for floor six instead of for the ground floor. The doors opened on Elena’s floor, and Steve was suddenly at 6A.

He panicked for a moment. Why would he knock on her door? Why would he come to see her? He had no reason.

Then he realized—he did have a reason. They really should talk about this thing between them. How it was incredibly inappropriate, how they should probably end it before it impacts their work.

He knocked three times and waited, second guessing himself, thinking he should probably just turn around and leave. But then the door was opening and there she stood.

Once she saw him, she seemed confused, eyebrows scrunched together, a frown on her lips. “Steve,” she said uncertainly, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How… How do you know where I live?”

He realized that she didn’t know he lived in this building. “I—um—I live here, on the floor below. I saw you coming in the other day, and Natasha told me your apartment number.”

Elena mulled this over. “Hmm… I didn’t tell her my apartment number.”

“Nat has her ways,” Steve said with a little shrug. He wondered if she would invite him in or if he was crossing a line by showing up here.

Well, he _knew_ he was crossing a line, being her superior, but something about it didn’t concern him. However, she shrugged and opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

Her apartment had the same layout as his, the living room leading into the kitchen. The house was covered in boxes. He assumed she hadn’t had the chance to unpack everything yet.

In the main room was a large yellow sofa with colorful throw pillows, along with two leather armchairs. A scuffed wooden dining table, small and round, took up the rest of the space between the couch and the kitchen, three red wooden chairs around it. A few bright paintings and photographs laid against the walls, not yet hung in their rightful places.

“Sorry about the mess, haven’t had a chance to unpack much yet. S.H.I.E.L.D. has kept me pretty busy.”

He took her in. Her hair was wet, hanging on her shoulders and making little wet patches on the cotton of her faded UCLA t-shirt. She was barefaced and barefoot with yellow painted toenails, and Steve found it more than a little endearing.

“So why are you here? Is there something wrong?”

“Oh—no, no, nothing wrong… I just…” He just what? Wanted to tell her they couldn’t sleep together anymore? Wanted to assert himself as her boss at work?

He couldn’t say any of that now. Not when he felt so calm all of a sudden, in her house that smelled a little like the perfume she wore, sweet and earthy. A strange calm that he felt every time he spent time with her outside of a work situation, a good calm that he hadn’t felt with anyone else since Bucky was still alive.

“I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

She smiled at that, sweet and small. It made him smile, too. “Thanks, Steve, that’s really nice of you.” He didn’t say anything, unsure of what to say next. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. The feelings he felt. But then she said, “I was about to order something to eat. Did you want to stay for dinner?”

He couldn’t say no. They ended up ordering from a little cafe down the block that Steve knew had great sandwiches. She ordered a turkey on focaccia and he got his usual, pastrami on rye. They sat on her yellow couch, eating sandwiches and drinking wine, talking idly, the same playful banter and coy flirting that got Steve going every time before.

They didn’t talk about work, or her training, or his mission, but they talked about her favorite music, the movies and pop culture references that Steve had yet to catch up on, and the books they were reading right now. Steve learned that she loved soul music, sci-fi movies, and Latin American novels.

She ordered a dozen assorted cookies from the deli as well. “I’ve got a sweet tooth,” she told Steve with a grin, biting into a chocolate chip cookie, “Sugar’s my biggest weakness.”

Something Bucky might say echoed in his mind. _“Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than you, sugar.”_

When he said the line, she blushed and pushed him away a little, muttering, “Shut up…” He didn’t budge when she shoved him, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see her smile.

“You think it’s the best idea to be shovin’ Captain America like that?” he asked, trying to put on a serious face but his tone was full of mirth.

“Well, I’ve been learning a lot from S.H.I.E.L.D. and I think I’m doing pretty well in hand-to-hand combat. I could probably take you.”

“Oh, yeah? Show me what you got.”

She scoffed, “I’m not gonna try to fight you right now.”

“Why, too scared?”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “What?! I’m not _scared_ , Steve!”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “Mmm, you sound scared to me. But that’s okay, we don’t have to fight. We both already know I’d win.”

She glared at him, but he only smiled kindly back. “You think you’re so cute.”

“Hmm, well, you certainly seem to think so,” he shrugged. He was surprised when she came at him and toppled him to the ground. “Hey!”

Elena had him pinned down by the wrists, her body on top of his, but he broke out of her grip easily. Flipping them over, he pinned her down with a firm grip on her sides. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin material of her t-shirt, and the heat caused him to squeeze her a little.

He was caught off guard when she jerked at his touch and looked up at him nervously, the hint of a laugh on her lips. When he squeezed again, she writhed around giggling as he tickled her. “No!” she gasped through her laughter, “No, no, no, no!”

“I think I found your real weakness, sugar,” he said, amused. Her hands came up to claw at his wrists, but he pinned her arms above her head and continued tickling with one hand.

“Stop! Please stop!”

“Only way I stop is if you forfeit.”

“Not a chance!”

He wasn’t expecting her legs to come up around his thighs and twist until he gave out, and she flipped him back over when he had to release her wrists to steady himself. She had his wrists pinned with both her arms now and was digging her knees into his sides, until she found the most sensitive part of his waist that made him thrash and cry in laughter like she was doing before.

“Oh—” he gasped as she tickled him with her bony knees, “Oh my God! Stop!”

“Why would I stop?” she mused, her voice low, “You look so pretty like this.”

Well that made his cock twitch, but he had more pressing issues.

Once he managed to get out of her hold, which took a surprisingly long time because she was stronger than she looked (especially her thighs), he had her pinned on her stomach, almost his entire body weight on her to hold her down as he tickled all along her sides.

She was squirming violently now to no avail; his hold on her was too strong. Only when she lifted her hips, brushing her ass up against his pelvis and _moaning_ did Steve falter.

This gave her enough leverage to turn in his grip and flip him over, straddling his hips again. “Ha, sucker,” she goaded him.

“That’s playing dirty,” he breathed, eyes narrowed, cock half-hard.

She shrugged and went to attack his sides again. They went at it like this for a while, pinning each other in progressively more difficult holds. They were both good at getting out from the holds, Steve because he was strong and Elena because she was sneaky, so neither could keep the other restrained for long.

Elena continued to play dirty to distract him, grinding her hips up into him, brushing her breasts along his arms, biting her lip when she caught his eye. Steve took the opportunity to reciprocate, occasionally groping at her ass or thighs, bringing his head down to whisper taunts into her ear, grazing his nose and lips along her neck.

They both were out of breath, which wasn’t much of a problem for either of them, but Steve was fully hard now and that was getting pretty distracting. The next time she flipped him, he relented, allowing her to pin his hands above him and letting his head flop onto the carpet dramatically.

“You giving up?” she asked, smirking.

After easily breaking his wrists out from her grip, he settled them on her hips. “There’s more important things right now.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

He pulled her down by her neck into a kiss, and they laid together, enjoying the moment. It was slow, neither of them rushing to take things further. They made out for what felt like hours, first on the floor until he pulled her up on the couch to lay on him. She tasted like wine and chocolate. Her skin was soft where his hands wandered under her cotton shirt.

They fucked there, slow and steady, hips grinding together to get them both off, and then they fucked in her bedroom, gentle at first, then harder until he pulled enough orgasms out of her to be satisfied—somewhere around four or five.

“I’m gonna go shower, I’ll be quick.” Steve stood to follow, eager to pull more from her, but she pointed a finger at him and glared. “You, stay! I can’t take any more right now.”

He laughed and obliged. Once he heard the shower running, he pulled on his boxers and wandered into the kitchen to grab another cookie, macadamia nut this time.

When he finished, he went over to the kitchen table where he started gathering up the food containers to throw them away. Once he cleaned up, he took the large paper delivery bag and folded it up in his hands absentmindedly.

That’s when the item that had been under the takeout bag caught his eye.

A manila folder with the official S.H.I.E.L.D. logo stamped across it. A few photos were stuck halfway out of the file, one catching his eye of a little girl holding a shotgun.

He paused, eyebrows furrowed. The file didn’t have any markings that indicated it was classified information, and even if it did, Elena was most definitely on a lower level of security clearance. Sitting on one of the rickety red chairs, he carefully opened the file.

On top was mostly pictures, and he checked them for captions or dates. The photo of the girl with the gun had slanted writing on the back. _Eleanora, Canelones, 1996_.

There were more pictures of the girl, of Elena.

In one picture she sat at a piano, an older woman perched behind her. The woman’s expression was severe, chin pointed, her black hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her hands clutched the little girl’s shoulders and Elena looked into the camera with a pout. _Pilar y Eleanora, Montevideo, 1997_.

Next, a family photo with a Christmas tree in the background. Elena sat on the lap of a beautiful woman. Behind them stood the older woman, Pilar, and an old man with a bushy mustache. Elena grinned brightly, eyes wide, cheeks chubby. Everyone else stared mutedly into the lens, unsmiling, solemn. _Navidad 1992_.

There were several black and white pictures of the older man. One of him in a military uniform, one of him with a group of soldiers, one of him standing above a dead body, a knife in his hand shone dark with blood. _Francisco Maldonado Vasquez_ , the captions named him, the pictures from various dates in the 1960s and 70s.

Looking at the pictures of the older man and woman, Steve recognized Elena in their faces. The woman shared the slope of Elena’s nose, the same frame of her face. The vacant expression of the man was hauntingly familiar to Steve. He had seen it in Elena’s eyes before, after she had witnessed the death of her team, after she prayed the Rosary.

They must be her grandparents, and the beautiful young woman must have been her mother. Several photos of Elena’s mother were labeled as _María_ _Carmen_ , with vague dates such as “ _1979-85?”_ or “ _1980’s?”_.

Underneath the wealth of pictures showing Elena as a child in Uruguay and as a teenager in California, there were several typed pages. As Steve skimmed through them, he realized they detailed Elena’s family history, her life.

Someone, perhaps Elena, had already been through the files. They had underlined specific phrases that caught Steve’s eye.

_Vasquez was the co-founder of the Movimiento de Liberación Internacional de America Latina (International Latin American Liberation Movement), an urban guerrilla warfare group that originated in Argentina and spread throughout South America._

_Vasquez was an expert marksman and performed many assassinations of important Latin American figures during the 1960s and 1970s. In addition to these public assassinations, dozens of men were found murdered and mutilated with the brand of the International Latin American Liberation Movement burnt into their skin. Many of these killings are attributed to Vasquez, directly and indirectly._

Steve’s stomach rolled as he read more into the details of Vasquez’s crimes, the horrors he inflicted on his victims, and the theology of his organization. He flipped to the next page.

_His wife, Pilar Alvarez Casas, was a Spanish political activist. They met through International Latin American Liberation Movement and worked together for many years. The couple married in 1966 and had one child together in 1968. _

_It is reported that Vasquez trained his daughter, María Carmen Maldonado Alvarez, to follow in his footsteps. The exact details of this training are unknown. It is reported that María Carmen, also known as Carmina,_ _killed at least five men while living in Montevideo during the 1990s and 2000s._

The specifics of those murders followed, how she was a prostitute who would sometimes kill her clients for drugs or money, or if they got too confident with her. It said that her father would help dispose of the bodies.

Steve briefly wondered how she was trained. What she was trained in. Where Elena was during all of this.

_The cause of her death in 2013 was blood loss. Lacerations were found on her wrists and throat , along with scattered scratches and bruising, indicating a struggle took place._

Pictures of her corpse followed, and Steve wanted to vomit.

_It is reported that Vasquez trained his granddaughter, Eleanora Maldonado Ortiz, in the same way he trained his daughter. The details about this are unknown._

“What are you doing?”

Steve was so wrapped up in the file that he hadn’t heard the shower turn off, nor had he heard Elena come into the main room.

She was standing there, one fluffy towel wrapped around her torso and one around her hair. Her jaw was clenched and she looked at him with confusion and trepidation.

“I—” he was at a loss for words. The things he had just read and seen kept playing themselves over and over in his mind. “I was just—”

“You weren’t supposed to look at that,” she cut him off.

Before he knew it, she was in front of him, snapping the file closed and clutching it tight to her chest while the other hand kept her towel from falling off. A picture fell out of the file and onto the kitchen table, one of Elena at eight or nine years old, an array of knives and guns in front of her as she grinned up into the camera.

Using the hand that had been holding her towel, she quickly slammed her hand down over the picture just as Steve reached to pick it up. She clenched her fist around it, crumpling it, and went back to holding her towel up.

“I’m sorry, Elena, I—”

“Don’t,” she hissed, seething. When he looked back at her face, her eyes were vacant again, just like her grandfather’s.

She was shutting him out again.

The idea of her closing herself off to him again, blocking him from knowing something as personal as her history, made him react without meaning to. His mind somehow reasoned that if she was going to build walls around herself when he had just been enjoying getting to know who she really was, then he shouldn’t really want her company, anyways.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” He said it without thinking, but as soon as the words escaped his mouth, he knew it was a mistake.

Elena drew back like he’d smacked her, confusion and shock flashing through her face before settling back on blank rage. Her lips drew up into a sneer and she said, “You’re right. We shouldn’t. You need to leave.”

She didn’t give him a chance to argue before marching into the bathroom and locking the door behind her, allowing him to grab his clothes from the bedroom.

Half of him wanted to fight her on it, to knock on the door, break it down, face her—but he didn’t know what he’d say to her. He would take back what he said, but after that, he had no idea.

The other half of him was reacting to her anger with the same. He was annoyed at her for keeping parts of herself from him, frustrated that she closed back up after he had seen so much of her. He wanted nothing to do with her when she was like this, so he hurriedly dressed himself and left.

Elena waited until the front door slammed shut to sink down onto the bathroom tile and sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Steve and Elena's relationship is really hot and cold right now. They're a mess.


	12. Miami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission in Miami ends in an unexpected way, and Elena finds comfort in Steve afterwards.

It seemed that both Elena and Steve had come to a mutual decision to resolutely ignore each other unless absolutely necessary. For the first few weeks after their argument, this was more difficult considering the case they were working on together. However, they made it work.

Steve went back to his firm, stoic Captain’s persona, addressing her professionally and only when absolutely necessary. He delegated her training on this mission to Natasha, directing her to ensure that Elena was ready.

Elena had no problem with this—the less time spent with Steve, the better. She addressed him as “Captain”, speaking only when spoken to and never out of turn. Instead of bothering him with all of her stupid questions about the assignment, she directed them to Natasha.

It was as if nothing had ever happened between them.

Once the mission was completed in early August, Steve was granted mercy. He and Natasha were called away on Avenger’s business, which lasted the rest of the month and gave him the opportunity to dive into something distracting and perilous. His brain shut out any thoughts of Elena after that and he was happier for it.

Elena was thrusted into work, herself. By the end of September, she had gone on five more missions with S.H.I.E.L.D. It was tiring. She hadn’t been given more than two days off in a row since before August, constantly working, constantly flying to another place, another city. After the mission with Steve and Natasha, which went all over New York and into Pennsylvania, she had been sent to Lima, Naples, São Paulo, Johannesburg, and Casablanca.

She marveled at the progress she had made in the span of a few short months. Her espionage skills had come a long way and while she was still unsure about herself sometimes, she found it easier and easier, and having a team of highly trained professionals at her back definitely helped.

Putting herself completely into her work also allowed her to move on from Steve. The way he had just rejected her after reading her file, deciding that he didn’t want to see her anymore because of its contents—that stung. She had expected his reaction to be disapproving, and she wasn’t surprised that he didn’t want anything to do with her now that he knew, but it still hurt.

She hadn’t chosen her childhood. Her grandparents had chosen it for her.    

It was disorienting, the way Steve had gone back and forth between wanting her and ignoring her. After their passionate night in the ocean, he had ignored her and things had been so uncomfortable between them. Then they shared that long night in the hotel—a night that only ended because he was called off on a mission, he later explained to her—but after that, things had been tense between them once again. He more than made up for it when he arrived unexpectedly at her apartment.

And then that file ruined everything.

After getting the job at S.H.I.E.L.D., Elena had poured over the file at least a dozen times to see what S.H.I.E.L.D. knew and what they didn’t. Turns out, there were plenty of details they didn’t know, and Elena was happy to keep it that way. The manila folder containing her history had been sitting on her kitchen table since she moved in, forgotten except during late nights when she was awoken by foggy dreams of her childhood memories.

She should have hidden it, stashed it away somewhere so nobody would ever see it. But she hadn’t, so it was her fault, really, that Steve was scared off from her.

The defensive part of her brain argued that Steve shouldn’t have been snooping around in the folder in the first place. She couldn’t help that he stuck his nose where it didn’t belong.

But how was he supposed to know how bad it would be?

Elena had run her mind into circles about it until she decided to shut these emotions into a box and lock it, like she had done so many times before. She focused on her work instead. It helped that Steve was away on duty with the Avengers, so she wouldn’t have to see him around the building.

Unfortunately, Steve got back to Washington right after Labor Day, and since then, Elena had seen him at least five times throughout the month of September between her trips to South Africa and Morocco, and each time was more awkward than the last.

Several run-ins in the elevator at work and at the apartment spent in stony silences, a few meetings and mission debriefings spent with Steve’s eyes boring into her every time she spoke, a terrible training session they were forced into in which Elena pointedly ignored how his hard body felt against her when they fought hand-to-hand.

All things considered, Elena thought she was doing pretty well at maintaining her anger and not pining over him any more than completely necessary. Only when she was alone, late at night, did she mourn the great sex and easy companionship. When the morning came, she locked away those feelings once again and tried not to look at him when she passed him in the hallways.

Steve missed her, and he admitted that much to himself. He had had more than two months to mull over the issue. While he held a bitter anger in his chest for the first few weeks after that last time, that had quickly abated by the end of August. Now he simply felt like a fool for ruining things with her.

Truthfully, he had been horrified to learn about her past, who her grandfather was, the crimes he had committed. The folder contained numerous pictures of her grandfather’s victims, from mutilated corpses with missing limbs to hospitalized patients with their skin burned off. More than that, the idea that he had _trained_ Elena, that he had _taught_ her how to do any of that stuff—that sickened him infinitely more.

Her shocking history wasn’t a deal breaker, and it hadn’t been the reason he so callously ended their—relationship? He wasn’t quite sure if he considered it a _relationship_. Regardless, he wouldn’t have tossed her aside for something she had no control over.

When she reacted to him by closing herself off, coldly asking him to leave, her eyes devoid of emotion—that’s what triggered him to leave. It had been a mistake; he realized that now.

But he had already ruined things with her, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Every time he saw her in the halls or in the elevator, he had no idea what to say to her. He saw how she looked at him—anger and hurt simmering beneath her eyes at times, while at others she held that blank expression. It felt like no words could remedy his mistake.

So he kept his mouth shut. He looked at her during meetings when she spoke, hoping his longing and regret was not obvious to the others in the room. When he had been asked to train with her, he had done so reluctantly, coaching her with short, brief phrases. Nothing more, nothing that would betray his emotions.

But Steve still missed her.

Early in October, just as the trees had started to turn and the afternoon temperatures started to drop below 70, Steve was called onto a mission to Miami, along with Natasha and Clint. As they waited on the hangar for the jet to arrive, Fury approached, accompanied by Elena.

Steve hadn’t realized she would be on this mission, too.

“I’ve put Maldonado on the case because she did so well with you guys in Philly. She’s familiar with a gang and familiar with Miami, so she’s a good fit for the mission.”

Steve remembered Elena explaining how she spent multiple vacations in Miami with her friends in high school and college. She mentioned a delicious Cuban restaurant that she goes back to every time she visits.

Steve gave a short nod. “Very well. Let’s board the jet and we’ll catch her up.”

Elena spared one glance to Steve before moving past him and following Natasha onto the jet.

The situation in Miami involved the same gang they had tracked in July across New York state and into Pennsylvania. There was a cell in Miami dealing with experimental weapons that were dangerous in the wrong hands. Their objective was to shut it down and take all of the weapons back to S.H.I.E.L.D.

The flight was quick, barely two hours. They had gone over strategy in that time, examining the layout of the warehouse and the amount of security that would be expected. Steve was actually impressed by a few of the suggestions Elena had for surveillance and infiltration.

The warehouse was on the outskirts of the Everglades, the grounds just barely on the solid side of marshy, the wetlands only a hundred feet southwest. A rotten, swampy scent hung in the air as they made their way to the warehouse on foot, the humidity making their clothes stick and foreheads shine with sweat. Steve was infinitely moist underneath the tight fit of his uniform, and he had never felt more uncomfortable.

Once they had eyes on the warehouses, they split up and circled the perimeter, counting out the guards.

“I’ve got four at the north entrance,” Steve said, “Two doors, one locked.”

“Three on the south side,” Natasha was saying into the comm, “One door over here.”

“There’s two at the east,” Clint said.

 “What’s the status on the west side?”

Elena answered, “There are at least fifteen guards down here, five cargo doors. The truck that had the shipment just left.”

“More guards than we anticipated,” Natasha muttered. “Stay put. Don’t go in without backup.”

“Yep, got it.”

Steve said, “Barton, take out the two guards on your side and go up on the roof to help Elena. I’ll take out my guys and meet you there. Romanoff, take out the men and get into the warehouse, scope it out without drawing too much attention.”

It certainly didn’t escape _Natasha’s_ notice that he called Elena by her first name, while he still addressed the other two spies by their surnames.

If Natasha asked Steve, he would say it was a slip of the tongue.

 “Wait for my signal,” Steve grumbled, taking out the last man at the north entrance and sneaking around to the west wall. He peaked over, viewing the scene. Several men were guarding while the rest were helping to move boxes of cargo inside.

He looked forward towards the tree line. The lighting was lower along the trees than it should have been, so he knew Elena was making it darker to hide herself. With his enhanced vision, he could just barely see the outline of her body.

“Barton, I want you to take out the two guards on the left. Maldonado, you shoot out the guards on the right. Then join me to combat the rest. They’ll be caught off-guard and we can make easy work of them. Get ready…” He saw Elena draw her rifle, lining it up to her right eye. On my mark… Now.”

The guards on the left and right side dropped in near unison. As soon as it happened, Steve went in, throwing his shield and hitting one man before throwing a punch to deflect another. He was vaguely aware of Elena running into the fight, using a handgun now to shoot out some of the men around Steve. With Clint shooting his arrows from the roof, they were able to take down all of the men quickly.

The three agents slipped into the warehouse.

As Steve and Clint cleared the inside of any remaining guards, Elena took stock of the cargo. “All the boxes reported from the most recent shipment are here. There should be more from past shipments deeper in the warehouse, along with ledgers for the buyers and sellers.”

 From the main warehouse, the rest of the building branched off into an office space for the bookkeepers and weapons testing facilities for experiments and demonstrations, according to the intel Fury gave them.

“Romanoff, what’s your status?” Steve asked.

Natasha answered, “Laying low, but there’s a ton of men in the testing area. Twenty or so. All heavily armed.”

“Maldonado, go to the office and grab the ledgers—whatever records you can get your hands on. Barton, with me. Romanoff, we’ll be right with you for backup.”

Steve didn’t look back as he jogged down a hallway towards the weapons testing facilities. Elena parted from them, feeling confident in the task she was given, although she knew she probably could’ve been a better asset to them in the fight.

There were several offices in the hallway, so Elena would have to check each of them. She opened the first door, gun ready for whoever might be waiting on the other side.

Her gun did go off as a man jumped in front of her and sprayed her in the face with—pepper spray? _Mace_?

She didn’t know, but it filled her lungs and made her choke. The man went down with her instinctual pull of the trigger, and she went down beside him as she coughed and spluttered, trying to bring oxygen to her brain when every breath she took felt tight, sharp, like her lungs were on fire.

The aborted coughs choked her up more—she couldn’t even inhale a breath to cough it out, and she was starting to suffocate on the smell of it alone. She hadn’t even registered the way the spray had filled her eyes and mouth, making the sensitive tissues burn and itch.

Spots danced in front of her eyes as she struggled for air. Her arms and legs couldn’t hold her up anymore, and she collapsed face-first on the concrete floor. She saw the fuzzy outline of several pairs of shoes entering the room, muffled voices talking about her, before her vision went completely dark.

 

Ten or so minutes passed as the three other agents battled the rest of the security force in the testing facility. It had been an intense battle considering some of the highly advanced weapons the rival group had, but it was finally wrapping up. They had heard what sounded like a struggle from the other side of the comms; Elena had been coughing and then the line went silent.

“Maldonado,” Natasha said finally, and all three agents seemed to realize that she hadn’t updated them in at least five minutes. “Report.”

Silence.

“What’s your status?” Natasha tried again.

More silence.

“Elena!” Steve yelled sharply, tossing his shield at an angle to knock out a few final opponents, “Report back to us!”

“Something’s wrong,” Natasha said, “We need to get to her now.”

Clint said, “I’ll restrain the rest of these guys, you two go find her.”

With that, Steve and Natasha were racing down the hallways, taking out gang personnel as they crossed them. Steve’s heart pumped wildly; his stomach felt torn up. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible had happened.

In the hallway Elena had gone down, only one door was ajar. A dead man lay inside, shot in the neck, blood pooling around his head.

“What’s he got there?” Natasha asked, and Steve bent down to pluck a small silver cannister out of his hand. The can was blank, no label attached. The nozzle glistened slightly with a clear fluid, like it had recently been used.

“Pepper spray, maybe?”

Natasha took the can and sniffed it lightly, coughing a few times and wrinkling her nose. “That’s not pepper spray, but whatever it is, it smells lethal.”

She handed back the can to him and exited the room. As Steve followed her, he smelled the nozzle and had to hold a cough back. It smelled strong, like cleaning chemicals and acid.

Steve heard the sound of men speaking, and he pointed to a pair of double doors. “Through there.”

They sprinted towards the sound, bursting through the doors to the outside of the facility. Immediately, someone shot at them. The shot missed, and then Natasha was attacking the shooter as Steve threw his shield to incapacitate another man. There were four men in total, and one had Elena’s body draped over his shoulder.

“Get her to the car!” one of the men yelled before pulling a gun. Steve was quick to block the bullets, but the highly advanced weaponry sent him flying back. These men weren’t highly trained, but they had some serious weapons.

“Rogers, chase him!” Natasha said. Steve hesitated—he couldn’t leave her here to fight three men with advanced weaponry—but she urged him on. “Go! I’ll be fine!”

When she managed to disarm one of the men and kill him with his own overpowered gun, Steve relented. He ran after the man and Elena, who were already halfway to a pickup truck parked in a distant parking lot.

The man tossed Elena’s body into the bed of the truck and jumped into the car, but Steve was faster. As the truck roared to life and gunned down the road, Steve managed to catch up. He tore the door off the driver’s side with one hand and yanked the man out. In his rage, Steve threw him so far that he heard the distant splash of the man landing in one of the nearby mangroves.

Before the truck could veer off the side of the road, Steve hopped in and pulled on the emergency brake. The vehicle skidded to a halt, and Steve was out the door before it was completely stopped and climbing into the bed to check on Elena.

She was unconscious, and she smelled overwhelmingly of the chemical that she was sprayed with. He could see that her face was red with irritation, like she had been burned.

After he ensured that she was breathing, he shook her a bit, trying to wake her up. “Elena, wake up,” he shook her harder, “Wake up!”

She didn’t.

He scooped her into his arms and made off in the direction of the warehouses. Into his comms, he said, “I found her. She’s safe, breathing, but she’s unconscious. Heading back to you guys. What’s your status?”

“I’m all clear here,” Clint said, “I’ll start cataloguing the weapons.”

Natasha said, “I took out the remaining men outside. I’ll get the ledgers from inside. I called in the jet—should be here any minute.”

Once the jet arrived, two medics from S.H.I.E.L.D. took Elena and reported they were going to take her back to Washington D.C. immediately. Another jet was on the way to take the other agents back as soon as they wrapped up with the warehouse.

It was a long night. After the team gathered all of the boxes of cargo and loaded it onto the second jet, they debriefed on the plane with Fury on video call.

After detailing the weaponry they found, Fury said, “Maldonado was sprayed with some kind of biochemical marker that we’re analyzing in the lab now. She’s awake now and we’re seeing the full effects of it. It seems to have sedated her at first, and now that she’s awake she’s having some agitation, impulsivity, and disinhibition. They’re going to keep her in the hospital overnight and see how she’s doing in the morning.”

“So it wasn’t meant to kill her?” Steve asked.

“No, only to incapacitate her. We’re not yet sure if these other effects were intended or not.”

They wrapped up the video call soon after, with Steve taking full responsibility for what happened. He shouldn’t have let her go off on her own, and he should’ve called in backup when he saw how many guards they were dealing with. To be fair, though, the weapons they saw the gang with in New York and Philadelphia several months ago were nowhere near as dangerous.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, Cap. I’ll keep you updated on her condition,” Fury said before signing off.

Before disembarking the jet in D.C., Natasha nudged Steve. “You should go see her when she gets out of the hospital. Just a thought.”

All night, Steve tossed and turned, frustrated with himself and confused as to how he could have let this happen. He was restless, unable to get the sight of Elena’s unconscious form out of his mind. He barely got any sleep before he had to report for work the next morning.

Fury had given him a few brief updates; Elena was getting better, the irritation on her face was fading, and she was no longer having neurocognitive side effects. She was to be released home later that afternoon.

Steve had his work cut out for him writing the mission report. He could barely focus throughout the day as he wrote it out. He still had no idea what kind of weapons the gang had stockpiled—he wasn’t exactly privy to all of that information. S.H.I.E.L.D. was very secretive with that intel, and Steve wished they were a little more transparent about it because he had no idea the severity of the situation.

 He had stayed later than usual finishing up his reports, and by the time he got back to the apartment building, it was already dark. As he pulled his motorcycle up to the building, he looked up at the window of the apartment he knew was Elena’s. The light was on, illuminating the turquoise curtains hanging at the window.

When he got into the elevator, he immediately pressed the button for the sixth floor.

After he knocked, he heard some shuffling around from inside and then Elena opened the door.

She was a mess. The delicate skin of her eyes and around her nose and mouth was still an angry red color, and dark circles sat under her eyes. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, and she wore an oversized UCLA sweatshirt and a pair of leggings.

A toothbrush was stuck in her mouth, foamy toothpaste around the edges of her lips. As she laid eyes on him, she paused in brushing her teeth, frowning around the toothbrush.

“Hi,” he said meekly.

As soon as Elena saw him, all thoughts of their last meeting at her apartment fell out of her head. She forgot about how hurt she was at his rejection, about her anger towards him. Now all she could feel was longing for him. She had missed him.

She took the toothbrush from her mouth to say, “Steve.” Her voice was wrecked, scratchy and low, and a bit muffled from the toothpaste. “What’re you doing here?”

“Wanted to check on you, after what happened… Is it okay if I come in?”

“Sure,” she nodded, stepping back to let him in. He watched her go towards the kitchen, spitting her residual toothpaste in the sink and leaning down to slurp water straight from the faucet to rinse her mouth.

When she was done, she turned to him. “I’ve brushed my teeth like ten times. Went through a whole bottle of mouthwash. I can’t get the taste of it out of my mouth.”

“It smelled pretty serious,” he said, “Must be bad if you can still taste it.”

She gulped, cringing at the taste of it on the back of her throat. “It’s like… bleach… and battery acid… It’s really nasty.”

He walked towards her, leaning on the kitchen counter across from her. She shied away from his gaze, not meeting his eyes, a small sad frown on her lips.

“Aside from that, how’re you feeling?”

Elena shrugged, then shook her head. She didn’t want anyone to know how terrible she was feeling, but she couldn’t find it in her to lie to him. “Not too good, I guess. My eyes keep itching and stinging. And my head really hurts. My throat burns.” Her lip trembled. “Overall pretty bad.”

“Elena,” he whispered, his heart clenching at how torn up she seemed.

“It was worse last night. But it’s not great now…” She trailed off, looking down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head, “It was my fault. I should’ve been more prepared—”

“No, Elena,” he shook his head, holding up his hands to stop her. “You are _not_ to blame for this. I should’ve sent you in with backup. We just—we didn’t know what we were dealing with.”

She shook her head, but didn’t try to argue with him. “Do they know what it was? What they sprayed me with?”

Steve could only shrug. “I’m not sure… Last I heard, they were still trying to figure it out.” She nodded but didn’t say anything else. “Are the side effects wearing off?” he asked.

Elena shrugged. “I think so. In the hospital, I got really mad and I kept trying to leave, and I almost attacked a nurse. I don’t know why, I just…” She rolled her eyes, but her voice was tight as she said, “They told me it was a side effect. I feel really bad about it, though.”

Steve tried to placate her, knowing she needed comfort right now. “You weren’t in control of your actions.”

She nodded, and her eyes got glassy. When she spoke, her voice cracked. “I know… I hated that—I… I hated that feeling. Like I couldn’t control myself… It was… it scared me.” Her face crumpled and she wiped a few tears that fell down her cheeks with the back of her hand. She shook her head. “Sorry, Steve… I just—I’m not trying to… to…”

He crossed the kitchen in two strides and took her in his arms, unable to help himself anymore. “Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay… you’re okay…”

She turned her face up to look at him, her palms resting on his chest. “I’m just… I’m scared,” she told him, her voice weak.

And she wasn’t just talking about the incident on the mission. She wasn’t only talking about her hospitalization. She was talking about the two of them, their relationship, the fragile thing they shared.

Steve could tell. From the vulnerability in her voice and the candor in her eyes, he understood exactly what she meant.

“I know,” he whispered, placing a kiss on the crown of her head. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Are you gonna stay?”

“Do you want me to stay?” She didn’t hesitate before nodding. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will be out tomorrow!


	13. The Asset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena and Steve fall into something comfortable; Elena goes on a mission and sees someone she did not expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut at the beginning! 
> 
> Also, you'll notice the chapter count keeps changing. I was planning on having a sequel but I think now I'm just going to make it all one story instead. Once I have all of the chapters planned out, I will have a (hopefully) final chapter count.

Steve woke up the next morning on Elena’s sofa with her leaning against his chest and wrapped in his arms. He hadn’t remembered falling asleep there, but he liked waking up to her. Her chest rose and fell gently with her steady breathing, and her face was relaxed, holding none of the worry and sadness that he had seen the previous night. The peacefulness he felt with her was overwhelming, and Steve wanted to sink into it and stay there forever.

Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last forever. She stirred in his arms, yawned, and stretched her arms out, almost hitting him in the face before he blocked it with a gentle push back on her arm. Realizing she wasn’t alone, she turned to look at him.

Her eyes were barely red anymore as she looked up at him with a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he greeted her softly, keeping the volume low.

“Hi,” she said back, her throat still a little sore and scratchy.

“How you feel?”

“Better. Thanks for being here for me. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said. They stared at each other for a few moments, sharing a soft little moment in the early morning light.

“Do you have to work today?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Oh, right… I forgot…” She blushed a little, and Steve couldn’t hold back from cupping her cheek, feeling the heat bloom under his fingertips.

She was still looking at him with that vulnerable gaze, and he leaned in to kiss her, trying to reassure her and comfort her at the same time. For a moment, she gave herself to the kiss, their lips meeting softly.

When he swept his tongue against her lower lip and into her mouth, she pulled back, looking uncomfortable. “My mouth still tastes like—” She grimaced. “I don’t want to subject you to that.”

“I didn’t taste anything,” he said honestly. She scoffed, and he said, “No, really. And I have enhanced senses, so if it was still in your mouth, I would know.”

“But I can still taste it.”

“Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you,” he smirked and tapped her forehead. She tried to bat his hand away, but he took a hold on the back of her head and pulled her forward again, kissing her deeply. “I’ll kiss the taste outta your mouth,” he whispered into the kiss, and she gave into him, draped over his lap and clinging onto his shoulders.

They kissed slow and dirty, his hands roaming everywhere over her clothes until he was coaxing her to pull off her sweatshirt and leggings, leaving her in just a pair of panties. They were on their sides now along the couch, facing each other, her thigh hitched up high over his waist. He kissed her lazily, both of them still waking up, sleepiness mixing in with arousal.

“Oh, Steve,” she whispered into his neck, pushing her chest up against him. He still had his clothes on—the dress shirt and slacks that he had worn to work—and she mewled as her nipples rubbed up against the stiff fabric of his shirt. She loved the feeling of it, the textures, the imbalance of him being fully clothed while she was almost completely exposed for him.

It got her soaking wet in no time.

He touched her hips and thighs, then brought his hand back to palm her ass. His fingers dipped between her legs and underneath the crotch of her panties, where he felt her so slick already.

 “You’re so wet, sweetheart,” he teased her, “Gonna get you ready for me.”

He eased a finger into her, palming at her ass with his other hand. “Yesss,” she sighed blissfully. Steve claimed her mouth again in a kiss and worked another finger into her pussy. She opened up wonderfully on his fingers and he could feel her pussy tightening around him and clinging to him.

Elena was pressing herself tight up against Steve, grinding her clit against his hip, mouthing at the skin of his neck, clutching at the collar of his shirt. He tugged the crotch of her panties to the side so he could work his fingers into her at a better angle. This bared her pussy more as she ground it against the fine fabric of his trousers, and she whimpered at the feeling.

He kissed along her neck and sucked at her earlobe. “Mmm, darlin’, you make the sweetest little sounds,” he rasped, “Wanna hear more of ‘em.”

She obliged him when he sucked a mark on her neck and put a third finger into her, moaning and crying out for him. Her hands tugged at his hair and the sting on his scalp made him work his fingers into her faster. He dipped his head down to suck a nipple into his mouth, and as soon as he bit down on it, he felt her thighs tense and her cunt clench around his fingers. She shouted out her orgasm and then tapered off into little moans and whimpers as she fell back down. He slowed the pace of his fingers in her and then eased them out of her.

He sucked her wetness off the tip of his index finger, meeting her eyes as he did so. “You taste so sweet, baby,” he told her. Her hands were blindly fumbling with his pants, trying to get them open. “Want a taste?”

 She nodded and opened her mouth. He stuck all three in at once and her eyelids fluttered closed, lips stretched around his meaty fingers. As he slowly moved his fingers in and out of her mouth, her tongue dancing around the pads of his fingers, he got his pants open with the other hand and released his cock.

“You’re so good for me,” he whispered, gently fucking her mouth with his hand and fisting his cock with the other. The act was depraved, he knew. But it was something Bucky had done to him once, and he remembered the intense thrill he got out of it then. Fellating Bucky’s fingers—there was just something deliciously dirty in it. By the way she was reacting, she liked it too. “Such a good girl.”

Briefly, he wondered if it was strange to call her that, thinking it might be condescending with today’s modern customs, but she eagerly moaned around his fingers, nodding her head slightly. He liked her enthusiasm.

With his free hand, he stroked her hip lightly, working her back up again before he fucked her. He shifted his hips forward, grinding his erection against her stomach, and she shuddered and whined at the wet trail his precum made on her bare skin.

He groped her ass and hips, pushing her hips forward to grind against him. Her stomach was so soft on his cock and her mouth was so wet on his fingers. She was eagerly sucking on them now like she would if she were giving a blowjob. Her hand held onto his wrist and brought his fingers further down her throat, almost gagging herself on them.

Steve groaned at the sight and thrust his hips into her further, needing the friction. He pulled his hand away and stroked his cock a few times with his wet fingers, covering himself in her saliva.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” he asked her, squeezing her ass again, “Gonna have me fuck you just like this, hmm? Not even gonna let me take my clothes off first?” She whimpered in response and he smacked her ass. “Words, Elena. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“I want it,” she whined, “I want you to fuck me, please, Steve, _now_.”

“So demanding,” he chuckled, thrilled when he saw a blush creep up her chest.

He had the idea to make her beg more, but he couldn’t wait. Instead, he took a hold of her hips and shifted them both so he was on her back and she was hovering above him.

He knew he should help her slip her panties off, but he was just too impatient, and before he could control himself, the sound of fabric tearing alerted them both and they looked down in unison at the shredded scrap of her panties in his hand.

“Hey,” she said, pouting, “I liked those.”

“Sorry,” he said, tossing them aside. He didn’t sound sorry at all. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He rutted his cock up against her pussy and she moaned, now able to feel every part of his cock as he ground their hips together.

One hand on her hip and the other on his cock, he positioned himself at her entrance. She shifted her hips back to slide down on him. They groaned in unison as he filled her completely. Steve grunted, giving her a sharp smack on the thigh, “Go on, sweetheart, ride me like this,” before she set a rhythm and started bouncing on his cock.

For a moment, he sat back and watched as she worked herself on his cock. She looked like a dream, her generous thighs and hips, her pretty little tits jiggling with each movement. Her ponytail was barely secured, strands of hair falling down around her face. She was panting, mouth open, letting out the sweetest whimpers and moans.

He rubbed at her clit with one hand and palmed her breasts with the other, occasionally squeezing her sensitive nipples and her clit in unison, causing Elena to let out delightful little cries. It was this that brought her to her next orgasm, and as he felt her tighten around him, her pace faltered and she leaned down over him, burying her hands in his hair again.

He kissed her through her peak, still working his fingers at her breasts and pussy, pushing her off the edge and into the abyss. When she was done, her movements had died down, but she continued to grind her hips on his cock.

Taking over for her, Steve thrusted his hips up and she whimpered. “Oh, oh God, Steve,” she breathed, eyes squeezed shut, “You’re so deep, feels so good.”

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, taking a hold of her hips and manhandling her how he wanted. He used his strength to shift her hips over him, pulling her up and back down to grind deep into her pussy. “God,” he hissed, “Your pussy feels like heaven.”

She moaned into his neck as he moved her hips for her, and Steve was so close, but he wanted to hear her scream first. He took a hold of her hips and stilled them, then jackhammered his hips up into her, pounding himself into her pussy. He was grunting and groaning, approaching his peak quickly, and as she screamed his name in pleasure, he shot off inside of her, pulling their hips together with little aborted thrusts until his body relaxed. Steve wrapped his arms around her and held her there, both of them catching their breath.

He kissed her temple. “I should get out of these clothes.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, muffled into his chest.

“Wanna go back to bed?”

“Mm-hmm.”

After cleaning them both up with some tissues, he got her settled under the covers in her bed before removing all of his clothes and climbing in after her. He spooned her from behind and she was asleep instantly. Next to her, with her in his arms, Steve fell asleep quicker than he had since he came out of the ice.

Later on, he woke her up for some more sleepy spooning sex, and that’s how they spent the rest of their Saturday.

 

That weekend was when he decided to not hold himself back from her. Being with Elena felt right. He enjoyed spending time with her, even outside of an intimate setting, and he had to believe that tranquility he felt around her meant something. He decided he would try to be with her—in whatever way she allowed—just so he could keep feeling that.

At work, they kept up appearances, although they certainly had a better functioning work relationship. There was a marked lack of tension when he was called in to train her or when they were sat in meetings together. They could both breathe again.

After work ended, Steve found himself at her apartment several nights a week in between missions and working late. Elena was benched from missions until they could be sure that the drug she was sprayed with had no long-term effects, and it gave her more free time than she knew what to do with after the busy past few months. Steve helped fill that void for her.

It was a comfort for them both. Lounging around Elena’s apartment, eating New York style pizza, or huge platters of chicken lo mein and pot stickers from the tiny Chinese place a few blocks over, or greasy burgers and fries from Steve’s favorite diner. They usually ordered takeout more than they went out to eat, but sometimes they’d take long walks after dinner and get coffee or dessert from the bakery Elena frequented.

There was something domestic in it, in finding restaurants to eat at and visiting them again and again, ordering the same things for each of them. They both found comfort in the familiarity, in the routine of it, and in the companionship.

They’d spend most of their evenings watching movies that Steve had on his list, or reading together curled around each other on the couch, taking breaks in between for sex. Steve had learned everything about Elena’s body and one of his favorite activities was making her come again and again until she had tears leaking from her eyes.

They had fallen into a bit of a routine. They’d spend some weeknights together for dinner, ultimately going back to their respective apartments for work the next morning. Once Friday came, they would sleep over after passionate nights together. The weekends were spent relaxing, and then Elena would go to church on Sunday mornings while Steve went on long runs. They would eventually meet up for a late breakfast, Elena dressed daintily in her Sunday bests, contrasted to Steve in running clothes, smelly and drenched in sweat.

She said it didn’t bother her, but Steve insisted they sat outside at the little brunch place they found downtown so he could air himself out.

They did little favors for each other, just thoughtless, simple things. She leant him all of her favorite Latin American books and a few others that were on his list. He hung up some large paintings and photographs for her that had been leaning against her walls since she had moved in. She showed him a few handy apps on his phone, like one that he could use to track his exercise. He sorted her laundry for her because she loathed to separate the colors from the whites.

They would do the dishes together, Steve washing while Elena dried—although she could never reach the top shelves to put the plates and cups away, which just gave him an excuse to press himself up behind her in the interest of “helping” her. They’d go down to the laundromat in the basement to do their laundry and he would kiss her discreetly while she sat on top of the washer.

It was all so domestic, and Steve realized it was something he had been missing. When he lived with Bucky, things had been similar, and he had missed it so much, the easy familiar companionship.

He learned that she loved Halloween, which was coming up, and she made him watch a bunch of classics, including _Hocus Pocus_ and the _Halloween_ movies, as well as _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , which confused him more than anything.

“Well now I’m in the Christmas spirit and it’s still two months away,” he complained to her after the movie ended.

She had giggled, “Yeah, that’s kinda the point of the movie.”

“It wasn’t even scary!”

The next weekend, she dragged him to a haunted house and laughed herself to tears when Steve got scared so bad that he practically shrieked. In retaliation, he jumped out and scared her half to death as she was in the shower later that night. When she slipped and fell on her ass, Steve fell to the floor because he was laughing so hard, and when she pouted at him with that angry little frown, he gathered her up in his arms and kissed her all better.

As it got colder, they spent more and more time together cuddled up on their couches or in bed, candles lit, covered in fuzzy blankets. Elena got cold easily and Steve was basically a space heater with his enhanced metabolism, so he often found himself with her feet tucked under his thighs or her hands crawling up his sides to steal his warmth.

She liked to light candles at her apartment and drink hot chocolate. It made the apartment smell so warm and—dare Steve say—cozy. Like cashmere and chocolate and autumn.

She liked the fall season in D.C. the best, she explained. In Los Angeles, it didn’t get cold like it did in D.C., so the season felt contrived. Autumn in Uruguay was during March, April, and May because it was in the southern hemisphere, so it didn’t have quite the same feeling it did in the United States with the Halloween and Thanksgiving holidays.

“Autumn in the U.S. has a very specific aesthetic,” she told him as they took a slow walk in the park. Everything around them was cold and orange and crisp.

“You like it?” he had asked, wrapping her tighter in his arms. He saw the appeal. It was warm and comfortable, welcoming in a way that was kind of like coming home, just like how he felt around her.

“I like it a lot,” she had said, grinning at him. Her lips were painted a dark cranberry color that matched the season. “Wanna try that pumpkin spice drink at Starbucks?”

“Maybe later,” he said, leaning in for a kiss, not caring if her dark lipstick smeared on his skin.

She was cleared for regular duty towards the end of October, right before Halloween. They were watching a scary movie and doling out candy to trick-or-treaters in the apartment complex when she told him.

“Have they told you if they’re sending you on a mission yet?”

“They mentioned something about sending me back to Miami,” she shrugged, getting up at a knock on the door, “No solid details yet.”

Steve wondered why they would be sending her back to Miami and if it had anything to do with the gang they had chased down a month before. He thought it would be dangerous to send her back after them considering what happened, but when he tried to bring it up to Fury, Fury said it was out of his control.

That sounded like bullshit to Steve but he didn’t say anything.

Elena was sent to Miami a week later and came back in two days, not a scratch on her.

“It was just a simple mission,” she said vaguely after she had a shower and Steve ordered food. “Retrieving more patents for some of those weapons we found in October.”

“Anything to do with the stuff they sprayed at you?” he asked, serving up steamed rice and tikka masala onto two plates.

She shrugged and popped a samosa in her mouth, “I didn’t really look. I was in and out in twenty minutes.”

From time to time, Steve wondered what the weapon was that they used on her, what its intended purpose was. Fury hadn’t told him anything about it and when Steve asked, he said their research department was still looking into it. Elena hadn’t heard anything about it since they confirmed she had no long-term adverse effects.

He wondered why she didn’t seem concerned, but they didn’t talk about it again.

There was a lot of stuff they didn’t really talk about.

They never talked about their relationship—what they were to each other. Neither of them wanted to. Both were content to enjoy each other’s company without putting a label on it. Steve didn’t want to make anything official because he felt he would be betraying Bucky. Elena didn’t want to define their relationship because she was afraid to open up more about her past—which was another topic they never discussed.

He thought about that, too, sometimes. The pictures he saw in that file. Whenever he watched her stick a knife throw or take down an opponent with one shot, it came to mind. _Did her grandfather teach her that when she was young? Had he corrupted her like that before she even reached puberty, turning her into a child soldier?_

Once on a mission, he saw her chop off one guy’s hand with a well-aimed toss of a hatchet. He had almost brought it up then, but thought better of it, knowing he wouldn’t like the result of the conversation.

 

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked a few weeks after she returned from Miami. They were at his apartment, the radio on low, as Steve cooked them spaghetti and meatballs. Elena was reading a book about Pablo Picasso’s art that Steve had picked up one day out of curiosity and hadn’t had the chance to read yet.

“Hmm?” she hummed absentmindedly, dogearing the page—a habit of hers that drove him crazy—and turning to face him. He repeated the question and she said, “Thanksgiving? Oh, they’re sending me on a mission to Phoenix.”

“Phoenix?” he asked, adding more basil to the tomato sauce, “What for?”

“Not sure. Something they’ve been planning for a while I think.”

“Wanna come taste this sauce?” he asked. She obliged, coming into the kitchen where he spooned some into her mouth. She hummed in delight and went back in for more sauce, pouting when he pulled the spoon away. “Who’s going with you?”

“Mmm, nobody?” She licked the remaining sauce from her lips, “I think I’m going alone.”

“Oh,” he frowned, “Alone? Have you done a solo mission before?”

“Yeah, once. It was a small thing. I’ll be fine.”

Steve didn’t doubt she could hold her own, depending on the proficiency of her opponent. “Just be careful, alright?”

She slung her arms around his neck, playing with his hair at his neck. He needed a haircut. “Yeah, of course I will, Stevie.”

His heart clenched at the nickname she sometimes used. It reminded him of Bucky, when Bucky would call him “Stevie” in the exact same way. He didn’t necessarily want Elena to _stop_ calling him that, but it still ached a little.

He bent down to kiss her, hoping to distract himself from the memories, only pulling away when the simmering sauce got too hot and splattered at them.

“Get back to it, Rogers, I’m starving.”

 

Two weeks later, Elena was in Phoenix. The last time she had been in Phoenix, it had been in the middle of the summer for an internship working with immigrants. Now, she was glad it was November, because she couldn’t stand the heat back then.

She had been there for three days already, over Thanksgiving and Black Friday. Stationed in a shitty little part of town right on the outskirts, Elena had been watching a supposedly abandoned warehouse since Thanksgiving night. She spent the entire day before that following around several members of the gang, doing surveillance to find out the location of the files S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent her after.

After tapping their phones and listening into their conversations for the past two days, she deduced that the files were in this warehouse. Now she just had to wait until midnight, when they would usually switch shifts with other gang members to do security, and then she could slip in and out with what she needed.

 When the clock hit 0000, she made her move, slipping in through a service door and making her way immediately to where she knew the files would be stored.

She picked the office’s lock easily, and she picked the lock on the filing cabinet even easier. _This gang needed to increase security_ , she thought, and she came up with several good ideas to enhance it on the spot. However, she supposed their incompetence made her job easier, so whatever.

In less than three minutes, she had all of the files she needed, and then she was on her way out.

Just as she slipped into the hallway, she heard a commotion near the end of it. Drawing her gun quickly, she pressed her back against the wall, making her way towards the rooms at the end. There were no lights in the hallway, so using her powers to make the area around her almost pitch-black didn’t draw attention and served to shield her from curious eyes.

She watched as a large menacing man barreled through and shot several guards at once, effortlessly fighting off a few other men hand-to-hand. He had long dark hair and he was wearing a mask on the lower half of his face. Once each guard had fallen to the floor, the man turned into one of the rooms at the end.

Chills ran through Elena’s body as she heard the man’s intended victim begging. “Please, no, please don’t kill me!” His voice was desperate. “I’ll give you anything, the formula, money, anything you want! Please! Please, no, don’t—"

A gunshot rang out, the man’s pleas ceased, and Elena darted back into the office where she came from. Hiding instead of trying to fight back came as an instinct to her, and she didn’t think twice before backing herself into the corner and shrouding herself in darkness.

She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her ragged breaths. Her heart pounded and she shook all over, praying that the man would leave.

 

The Asset has already mowed through the pathetic security team outside and had just finished off his target, the scientist, when he heard it. The small inhale, the shaky breaths muffled behind a hand.

There was someone else, one person he left behind. That wouldn’t do.

He went back into the hallway where the sound came from, but there was nobody there that he could see. Walking down the hall slowly, deliberately, his footsteps fell silent on the concrete.

One of the doors was ajar to the office, just as it had been before, but when he looked in, it was dark. He couldn’t see anybody inside.

As he was about to turn and walk away, he heard another sound. The breathing had long since halted, but now he heard the faint rustle of movement, the quietest whisper of a knife sliding smoothly out of a holster.

Then he noticed one corner of the room was inexplicably darker than the rest, barely noticeable, but the corner ate up the light in a strange way. He stepped inside, moving towards the corner like a shark hunting for prey.

There was something graceful about the way he moved, how he stalked towards her slowly, soundlessly, a dangerous waltz without music.

When he reached the corner of the room, he could see where the distinct void-like darkness begun, the unnaturally black lighting swallowing up everything around it.

He knew she was there, though. He could hear her small, aborted breaths. He could hear her trembling.

This would be fun.

Before the Asset could strike, he was blinded, a bright white light centered on his eyes catching him off guard. He raised his arm to block out the light but somehow it shined through, bypassing his flesh and burning even through his eyelids.

The girl shot past him, but he was on her heels as soon as the lighting tricks flickered away.

She was halfway down the hall by the time he caught her, closing his flesh fist around the long braid down her back, yanking her backwards and throwing her to the ground. Elena hit her head on the concrete, going dizzy for a moment, enough time for her attacker to crouch over her.

The Asset thought he probably wouldn’t even need to pull out a weapon to kill her, wouldn’t have to bother with dirtying a knife or unloading a gun. Still, he pulled out his sidearm, intending to make this quick and easy.

She was quicker than he anticipated.

Before he could get his finger on the trigger, she was kicking it out of his hand and landing two swift kicks to his face above the mask. He reeled back for a moment, long enough for her to pull out her own gun. She shot off four bullets at him, all blocked by a raise of his left arm, which she realized, with a shock, was shiny and silver. She thought it must be some kind of metal armor, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

She was scrambling up quicker than he could get to her and then the room was sheathed in darkness, the blackest black he’d ever seen, blacker than some of his dreams when he went into cryo. Even with his enhanced sight, he couldn’t see through this darkness.

Luckily, his other senses were enhanced, as well.

He only heard one footstep of hers moving away from him and he was moving towards her. He tripped a few times over the dead men who laid in the hallways, but she seemed to be moving with ease. _How could she see through the dark?_

He managed to catch up with her—in a sense. He tripped again and ended up falling, catching her ankle in the process. Her face smashed into the concrete and her nose shattered. Blood dripped down her chin and into her mouth, and in her disorientation, she lost a hold on the lighting.

Once he could see her again, her face covered in blood, he pulled a knife quickly and was on top of her in seconds. He swiped at her a few times, slashing up her arms, but she blocked most of his hits and managed to wiggle out from under him.

She stood to face him, now holding a knife of her own, and they lunged at each other. They were trained in the same type of knife fighting, so the Asset could predict her moves just as well as she could predict his. He was stronger than her, but she was quicker.

Catching him off guard with a well-placed jab to his side and then to his knife hand, she disarmed him. She maintained her grip on her knife and charged at him quickly, but he blocked each hit with his metal arm, the blade making grating scraping noises against it.

He smacked the knife from her hands and came at her with his own. They fought hand to hand like a dance, advancing on each other back and forth like a tango. She was quick enough to dodge many of his hits but her own attacks were fruitless against him, considering he was much bigger and stronger than she.

Ultimately, he was the better fighter as he backed her into a corner and wrapped his metal hand around her throat. He pinned her thrashing body to the wall with his own, pressed tightly against her so she couldn’t kick at him again. She could feel all of his weapons and holsters digging into her own, along with the warmth radiating from his torso contrasting with the cold metal on her neck.

As he choked her out, the Asset looked into her eyes, glinting dark brown in the low lighting, wide with panic. He could feel her arteries pulse weakly in her throat and he knew she’d be out soon. Her face reddened and her hands scratched and pulled at his metal arm, his shoulders, his face, to no avail.

In her struggle, her tac jacket became undone, her white long sleeve shirt underneath visible. That’s when he saw the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo, and he paused, his hand still on her neck but no longer squeezing.

His handlers had told him not to kill S.H.I.E.L.D. agents unless they were getting in his way or trying to kill him. This woman had been doing neither of those offenses when he found her hiding from him originally.

Last time he had killed someone he wasn’t supposed to kill, he had been punished.

Decisively, his hand slackened and she dropped to the ground, panting and holding her throat. She looked up at him with fearful eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

He didn’t give her a second glance before he turned to go, leaving her behind confused and scared, but grateful that her life had been spared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is kind of time-jumpey, just like the last one. Well, the next one will be kind of like this, too. It's all part of the plan. Thanks for reading!!


	14. The Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena continues to be paranoid about the man who attacked her. The Asset receives his next mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So I have another fic in the works called Brooklyn's Sweetheart and it's a mob AU fic. It's a Stucky/reader fic and the first reader fic I've ever done. It will get a little dark though, just a fair warning. If you're interested, please go check it out!

“Did she see your face?”

“No.”

“But she saw your arm?”

“Yes.”

“Did she follow you out?”

“No.”

There was blood on the Asset’s face from a cut above his eyebrow where the girl kicked him. The blood had long since dried. His handlers hadn’t given him a cloth to clean up with, and he hadn’t moved to wipe it off himself, sitting still as a statue in his black chair while the scientists worked on his arm.

He had gotten back from his mission less than twenty minutes ago. It was simple—assassinate the scientist in charge. Then that girl had gotten in the way.

His commanders were angry that he had let her live. He could tell.

But last time, they had been angrier when he had killed an innocent S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Next time, he would do better.

Part of him wished they would hurry up with his maintenance and put him back into cryofreeze. Another part of him knew he had no right to have any wants or wishes.

He wasn’t programmed to want or wish.

“Which agent was it?” The man who asked was the one in charge. Pierce. The rest of his handlers’ names and faces were lost to the Asset. He never kept track of them. They would all be replaced eventually, so he knew better than to get attached.

But Pierce had been in charge for a while.

“Eleanora Maldonado. Recruit from South America. I worked with her over the summer on a terrorist case—she’s sharp.” one of the handlers answered.

Another asked, “Should we have her taken care of?”

“No,” Pierce said after taking a moment to think. “Let’s see what she does, first. Put a tracker on her.”

 

Elena’s flight back to D.C. and debriefing went by in a blur. All she knew was that S.H.I.E.L.D. reportedly had no idea who might have attacked her, but they were looking into it. She didn’t mention it to anyone else after that.

Steve returned from spending Thanksgiving with Tony in New York the following Monday, concerned about her broken nose—which healed crooked, much to Elena’s dissatisfaction. She left out most of the details when telling him about her fight with her attacker. The stranger was still out there, and she didn’t know if he might try to find her. She was scared more than anything, but Agent Hill said she would keep Elena updated if they found anything about him.

 Elena spent several weeks in a state of paranoia. She was looking over her shoulder everywhere she went, and she barely left her house alone except for work or to go out with Steve. Luckily, Steve hadn’t seemed to notice anything was amiss.

One week before Christmas, Elena was approached by Rumlow, who handed her a file. “New solo mission, back to Phoenix.” This would be her first solo mission since Thanksgiving, no one there to watch her back or protect her.

“Oh—uh—Phoenix?” she stuttered, taking the file with shaking hands.

He seemed to notice her reluctance, the panic in her voice. “Yeah. That a problem?”

She hesitated for a long moment, wondering whether she should say anything. Then she remembered that Rumlow had been with them throughout the entire El Orden ordeal—he had proven himself to be trustworthy then (aside from the electrocuting her with a shock collar incident, but she had forgiven Steve for that so she could forgive Rumlow, too).

“I… The mission just didn’t go so well last time,” she responded.

He gave her a smile, but it didn’t really reach his eyes. “Why? What happened?”

“Uhm… Some guy was there, and he attacked me. He was gonna kill me, and then he just left for some reason. I guess I’m just worried something else might happen.”

His smile tightened. He clapped her on the shoulder in a way that she guessed was meant to be reassuring. “Don’t worry about that, Maldonado. The mission will be fine.” His eyes hardened as he appraised her, the fear in her eyes, before turning and walking away without another word.

Elena didn’t know what to think of the encounter, but the helicopter taking her to Phoenix was leaving in an hour, so she couldn’t dwell on it. She decided to power through it and ignore her instincts.

Despite the pit of dread in her stomach, Rumlow was right. The mission went fine, and she was back in a few days. The recon was a little more work than usual, and she had to chase some dead-ends, but she got the data S.H.I.E.L.D. needed, and only got a few bruises for her efforts.

It was snowing when she got back to D.C., and as she took the elevator up to her floor, the snow in her hair melted and sank onto her scalp, giving her chills down her spine. She searched in her bag for her keys, but she couldn’t find them—which was strange and more than a little worrying.

She knew she had them with her the day her mission began.

As she walked down the hall to her door, the well of anxiety inside of her rose and flooded over. Trying to placate herself, she reasoned that she lost the keys, or misplaced them. They hadn’t been stolen—in fact, they were probably still sitting on her entryway table. There was no reason to be nervous.

But still, she was on high alert. So when she bent down to reach under her welcome mat for the key hidden discreetly in the stitching of the carpet underneath, she noticed the mat was wet. And it was cold.

Like recently melted snow.

She whipped out her phone and texted Steve, the first person she thought of.

 _SOS someone is in my house_.

She waited a beat. He didn’t answer. She probably should have turned around and left the apartment building, or at least waited for him to show up, but she didn’t even know if he was home.

Drawing her gun from her hip holster, she got the key from underneath the carpet and slowly inserted it in the lock. The deadbolt slid to the side and she turned the handle.

It was dark as she walked inside. That was the only thing she could process before someone attacked her.

Of course it was the same person—she knew it. Immediately, she felt the bitter cold metal of his hand closing around her windpipe.

It was hard to see him in the low lighting, but she could tell he was wearing that mask again.

She managed to get a shot into his side and he grunted, releasing her. Elena darted back out the door, only getting through the threshold before she was tackled to the ground, the gun yanked from her hands. With a bright flash to his eyes, she managed to distract him enough to smack the gun out of his grip so he couldn’t use it on her. It flew halfway down the hallway, but she barely saw where it went before he was punching her in the face, shattering her nose again.

“Fuck,” she groaned, increasing the intensity of the brightness in his face as blood trickled down her throat. “The last one _just_ healed.”

When he was in enough pain from the light to be thrown, she tossed him off of her and took out her knife. Before she could slice at him, he was attacking her with a dizzying blow to the left side of her head, disorienting her thoroughly enough that she lost control of the lighting as the room span. She gripped her knife harder, tried not to throw up, tried to get her vision less blurry, but the assassin was on her quickly, pinning her face-down to the floor and pressing a gun to the back of her head.

Her brain was so fuzzy that didn’t even realize when the elevator doors had opened, or when a shield came flying at the stranger and knocking him off of her.

Wondering briefly how she wasn’t dead yet, she looked up and saw Steve. Well, she saw three Steves, but she was pretty sure there was only one in real life—like, 70% certain, at least.

Her eyes wouldn’t focus, and her ears were buzzing, and she really thought she might have thrown up if it weren’t for the fact that she hadn’t eaten much that day. So she didn’t really notice when Steve was fighting hand-to-hand with the man who attacked her. She vaguely heard their grunts and understood a struggle was going on behind her, but she was focusing all her efforts on trying not to succumb to a potential brain injury.

It took a few minutes before her vision was clear enough, and then she realized her gun was five feet in front of her. Crawling towards it was a challenge. Each movement she made sent her skull throbbing, but she got there in the end. She whipped around, saw Steve pinned against the wall at the end of the hallway, aimed, and fired.

Two bullets landing in his upper leg, which was pretty good considering she was still seeing triples.

Steve threw the man off of him, and the man stumbled back, gripping his thigh. Steve didn’t even have time to grab his shield again before the man was bursting through a window and was suddenly out of sight, despite them being on the sixth floor.

He rushed to Elena’s side once he was sure the man wasn’t coming back.

“Are you okay?” She was bleeding from her nose and on the side of her head. The man was strong, evenly matched to Steve, so he knew he must have hit her really hard.

She gulped, the taste of iron and salt on her tongue. Licking her lips, she tried to nod, but it hurt her head. “Mm… My head…”

That was all she said before slumping against the wall.

Steve called Maria Hill and Nick Fury right away, and they had a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. medics take Elena to the hospital. Steve followed, not even changing out of his workout clothes. He had been at the gym when he saw her text, and he knew if he had gotten there a little quicker, she wouldn’t have been as bad off.

None of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents Steve spoke to knew about the incident who the man might be. Fury said it was their top priority.

Luckily, the doctors said, she only had a concussion and there was no bleeding in her brain. It could have been worse. He stayed with her all night, reassuring her when she woke up around midnight that she would be okay, taking her hand in his, careful of the IV in her hand.

Her nose had been broken—again—so when she spoke, it was a little thick and nasally. “Thanks for being there, Steve.” Her voice was a rough with sleep and pain.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there earlier,” he said, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. “I was at the gym, but I should’ve been faster.”

“Steve, it’s okay,” she said with a kind smile. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But I—”

“Hush,” she cut him off, “I won’t let you feel bad about this. Really.”

He frowned, wanting to argue, but he knew she would argue right back. Finally, he said, “Well I’m sorry for wearing sweaty clothes while you’re in the hospital. I smell terrible.”

She laughed at that softly, then pointed at her nose. “Luckily for both of us, I can’t smell anything right now.”

Elena got tired again soon after when a nurse came in to give her another dose of pain meds, and even though she encouraged him to go home because she was _fine_ , he stayed with her until she was discharged the next morning.

He didn’t let Elena know, but he was worried about her. He didn’t know who her attacker was, but it wasn’t her first fight with him, and he didn’t suppose the man was going to give up until Elena was dead.

So Steve stayed with her at her apartment for the next few days while she recovered, never leaving her alone for longer than necessary. He looked around her place for areas where she would need updated security and sent Fury a detailed email about it.

Once Elena was cleared to go back to work—but not for field duty yet—Steve made it a habit to stay with her overnight and then follow her closely to work so she didn’t have the chance to be alone.

Elena didn’t mind. It actually eased her anxiety a little. After all, she had been right to be paranoid before about the stranger coming after her again. He certainly wasn’t going to give up now, and what better protection could there be than Captain America?

It also helped that Fury insisted on putting advanced locks on her apartment windows and doors, along with hidden security cameras. Unfortunately, Fury hadn’t come up with any information about her assailant.

Christmas came and went, and they both took leave during the holidays. Steve went to Christmas Eve Mass with her and they spent the day of cuddled together watching Christmas movies. Weeks more passed. Eventually she could breathe normally through her crooked nose again and her worries foolishly ebbed away.

 

The Asset had had worse wounds, but the girl still got him with a bullet in the side and two in the right leg. He healed quickly, felt little pain, but his handlers weren’t pleased when he informed them about the man with the shield.

“We knew they lived in the same building,” one handler grumbled that night after the Asset got back and gave them his mission report, “We should have planned for this contingency, Rumlow.”

Another handler scowled. “I didn’t think they were friendly. They act so formal at work, like they barely know each other.” That handler, Rumlow, had been the one to defrost the Asset. He had explained how the girl was afraid of him, and who knew what she might do in her fear? She was a _liability_. All this based on a simple conversation.

So the Asset had to finish her off.

A third handler who had been talking on the phone hung up and informed them, “We have people tracking them now. He hasn’t left her side at the hospital.”

“We’ll need to strike when Cap isn’t with her,” Rumlow said. “Put him back in the freezer until we come up with another plan.”

So into the pod the Asset went.

He was woken up an indeterminant amount of time later, but it only felt like seconds to him. His mission, of course, was to finish the job.

The only problem was the man with the shield—Captain America, they called him.

As the scientists prepped him the usual way—warming his body up, rewiring his arm, dressing him in bulletproof padding—his handlers briefed him on the situation.

Captain America had taken a special interest in protecting the girl. He does not leave her side for very long. The Asset’s job is to monitor them (on the security cameras in her apartment that his handlers hacked into) and wait for an opening.

But they were attached at the hip. Throughout the holidays and the weeks following, the Asset watched them closely. His handlers set him up in an adjacent apartment building because they had no idea how long it would take for an opening to show itself. He sat there, eyes stuck to the screen of the tablet his handlers provided.

He had multiple views of her apartment on the tablet. One view of her living room and kitchen, one view of her bedroom, one view of the hallway outside. The girl and the Captain spent most of their time in the living room or in the bedroom, but they occasionally went out to eat, and the Asset would follow them at a discreet distance.

They went to church on Sundays. They went to the gym down the street together. They took walks in the park and ate bagels every Saturday morning. When they went to work at S.H.I.E.L.D., they left for work together and arrived back together. The Asset couldn’t attack in the interim, because she was protected by S.H.I.E.L.D. The Captain never left her alone, never unprotected.

The assignment was getting cumbersome, but the Asset found himself looking forward to watching their domestic activities on the screen of the tablet.

There was something familiar about it, the way they curled around each other on the couch. Something warm in the way they sat together, not always talking, just reading or watching television or listening to music. The girl would knit sometimes, and the man would draw, and the Asset thought he recognized something in it, but when he searched his memories, nothing came up.

And then there were the times when they would get intimate together, and the Asset would watch with curiosity, his heart jumping and his skin sparking at the sight of their bodies wrapped around each other.

 He didn’t know why, but the Asset was almost relieved that the Captain hadn’t given him the opportunity to murder the woman yet.

But it was only a matter of time.

 

It was the second week of January, almost four in the morning, and Elena had woken up next to Steve with a headache. She had been getting the occasional pains since her concussion—only one of the lasting effects from the attempted assassination. Stumbling into the bathroom, she reached into the medicine cabinet and blindly grabbed a bottle, swallowing down one of the prescribed migraine pills dry.

She scowled into the mirror afterwards, looking at her bent nose. It’s not that she minded the look of it much—Steve called the crookedness “cute”—but it gave her trouble breathing sometimes. And it made her snore. Steve called that cute, too, but she had woken herself up on multiple occasions with it.

After waiting a half hour for the pill to kick in, she settled back in next to Steve and tried to go back to sleep. He curled himself around her, pulling her back into his chest.

“Migraine?” he asked her, the gentle rumble of his voice in her ear. He was a light enough sleeper to wake up when she got out of bed, which she supposed was useful in the whole protecting her thing. He had barely left her side since the attack happened, and he said he wouldn’t until they caught the guy.

He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if she died. He didn’t have to tell her that—she already knew.

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m okay now.”

He only hummed and fell back to a light slumber behind her. She tried her best, but she couldn’t get back to sleep.

Around six in the morning, she slipped out of bed. He tried to pull her back, but she convinced him to keep sleeping, as she was only going to do some chores she’d neglected around the house.

She put the radio on low, turning it to a Spanish station she liked. After sorting through her mail, tidying up, doing the dishes, and dusting her furniture, she found herself back in the bedroom, sorting through laundry.

Steve woke up shortly after, the sound of her singing softly to the radio rousing him. He didn’t alert her to this, content to watch her as she worked. She danced a little to the music, singing the words easily in Spanish, swaying her hips around as she folded laundry. It was so domestic—this little life with her, the time they spent together—it was just lovely. She was lovely.

He didn’t know what he would do if she was hurt again, if that maniac with the metal arm came back and finished what he’d started. Maybe Steve would never leave her alone again, but he certainly wouldn’t risk it. All the training in the world would never give Elena a chance against that man—the man whose strength had matched his own, whose knife skills were quicker than he could keep up with.

The only reason Elena lived past her last two encounters with the man was luck. Steve wouldn’t leave her life up to chance again.

He didn’t know what he would do when he was called back on a mission. Luckily, he hadn’t been, but Fury said that when the time came, they would put extra security on Elena. She wouldn’t go on anymore solo missions, and there would be people watching her at all times.

Steve appreciated that Fury hadn’t asked questions about why Steve was so adamant on protecting Elena. Maybe he was just that obvious about his feelings for her, but Steve didn’t want to have that conversation with anyone yet—not until he and Elena had that conversation, at least.

She had lit a few candles. The smell of sandalwood and coffee and the sound of her moving around the room, singing softly—it soothed him. It almost put him back to sleep until she turned around and saw him gazing drowsily up at her.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said, smiling.

“Good morning,” he greeted her as she moved out of the room to put away some towels in her linen closet.

“I made coffee,” she said over her shoulder. “Want me to make you a cup?”

“Yes, please.”

She knew how he liked it, and she was back in no time with a mug and another basket of neglected laundry. They had gone down to do several loads the night before—Steve wouldn’t let her go alone, of course—and once they got back, he distracted her from folding all of it by kissing at her neck and convincing her to get on her knees in front of him. Not that she needed much convincing.

He sat on the edge of the bed, still watching her, his mind spinning at the thought of his cock in her mouth, the enthusiastic way she swallowed him down. It was one of his favorite things to do with her—well, actually, everything was his favorite. He couldn’t choose.

She was in front of her closet, hanging up clothes. Steve’s eyes trailed over her ass, her thighs. Only wearing a tight pair of sleep shorts and a long-sleeve Henley, plenty of her body was exposed for his eyes. The sight was only made better by the way she danced, shaking her hips to the rhythm of the music, her ass and thighs jiggling with each movement.

Steve decided that she needed a reward for being so good for him the previous night.

“Hey,” he said, leaning over to set his half-finished coffee down on the bedside table. “C’mere.”

“Who, me?” she teased, sauntering over to him. The song on the radio had turned to a more sensual one, the singer’s crooning voice drifting through the apartment.

He took a hold of her hips when she reached him and turned her around. Still sitting on the bed, he had the perfect view of her ass in those tiny shorts. “You’ve been giving me quite the show, darlin’,” he said, “Dancing around in these little shorts.” He rang his index finger along the lower hem, which clung right along the swell of her ass.

“Maybe that was the point,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. She shivered when he drifted his fingers down along her sensitive thighs.

“Take off your shirt,” he commanded, and she obeyed instantly, hooking her thumbs in the hem and dragging it over her torso. She tossed it behind him, glancing back down at him with a cheeky little smirk. “These, too,” he said, yanking one side of the waistband of the shorts halfway down her hip. She slipped them off, bending down and giving her a view of her ass and a quick glimpse of her pussy as she shucked her shorts all the way to her toes. “No panties?” he teased, one hand perched on her hip.

“Nope,” she said, straightening up. After a beat, she asked, “You gonna do something back there, or did you just want an hi-def closeup of my ass?”

He pinched at her hip. “Bend down. I want you to touch your toes.”

“Bossy.” But she complied, and he admired the view, the voluptuous curve of her ass, her pussy lips spread out for him.

“Pretty,” he said, dragging one finger down her glistening pink slit.

“You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?” She felt his smirk as he pressed his mouth against her ass cheek. He kissed one cheek and then the other, his slight stubble prickling at her sensitive skin.

“Tell me what you want.” His hands framed her ass, fingers stretching over her hips, thumbs at just the right position to take hold of the skin just outside her pussy and spread her out for him.

“I think you know what I want,” she said, breathless. One hand came up and slapped her right ass cheek before returning to its original position. Still, he didn’t say anything, just kept still until she said something. Finally, “I want your tongue on me. Please eat me out.”

“Good girl.” He wasted no time in taking her clit into his mouth and sucking it into his mouth, lashing his tongue against it. The combination of harsh suction and wet friction had her squirming and crying out. Keeping a tight grip on her, he didn’t let up until she was right about to come, at which point he pulled away.

“Bastard,” she breathed. He spanked her again, a little harder this time, and she whined. “Please, Steve.” She tried to stand up but he kept her where she was.

“You stay,” he ordered, placing one hand on her lower back to press her further down. Once again, the acrobatic training S.H.I.E.L.D. had given her was paying off. He noticed her legs shaking and he smirked, running one hand gently from her ankle to the back of her knee and up her thigh. “You look nice like this,” he said, “All spread out for me.”

He didn’t give her the chance to respond before his mouth was back on her. This time, he licked up along her slit and lapped at her entrance, fucking her quickly with his tongue. She always loved it when he did this, and his mouth never got tired. His chin was pressed against her clit, providing just a hint of friction, and she would have been rocking her hips back into his face if not for his iron-tight grip on her hips keeping her still.

Soon, her legs were trembling again, thighs clenching, and he could feel her pussy fluttering on his tongue. “Steve—Steve!” she was gasping, and then he pulled away. “Steve!” she whined, earning another slap, this time at that crease where her thigh met her ass. She moaned at that, her legs trembling more violently at the pain. “Oh, Steve, please, please, please—”

“Please what?” he asked, kissing her soft skin, lips running gently up her thigh, over the red marks he left on her ass.

“Please, I need to come, Steve. I need to come so bad,” she moaned.

He considered this. “Bring your hands up and spread your ass for me.”

“What? No—I’ll fall.” Her hands were flat on the floor at this point, supporting most of her weight. If she brought them up, she would definitely lose her balance and drop onto her face.

“I won’t let you fall, sweetheart.” It was true—he wouldn’t. To prove it, he brought his feet to frame hers, lower legs now pressing against hers from the outside. This, along with his grip on her hips, would surely keep her standing.

Slowly, she brought her hands back and spread her ass apart, giving him a delicious view of everything she had. He was rock hard—had been for some time—but this made his cock leak with precum.

“Such a good girl for me,” he groaned, trying to restrain himself so he could finish the task at hand. Elena whimpered at his words, and he licked at her clit again. Softly at first, then more and more.

When she wavered on her feet, he took one hand from her hip and wrapped his arm around the front of her hips, anchoring her against his mouth by her pelvis. She gasped at the sensation of his mouth pressed firmly against her clit, but then he brought his other hand off her hip and promptly ran two fingers across her slit before sinking them into her.

“Oh-oh-oh!” she moaned, grinding her hips back against his mouth and fingers. By now, he was sucking on her clit again and curving his fingers inside her to massage against the spot that always made her scream. And scream she did. “Yes, oh—God—Steve! Steve!”

And then she was coming on his mouth, and it was her little sounds and the way her cunt clenched on his fingers and that earthy-tangy aroma of her pussy that made him groan against her sensitive flesh, prolonging her pleasure and making him impatient for his own.

As soon as she was done coming, he had his cock out and was yanking her down to sit on his lap. She went almost boneless, but then he slapped her ass and rutted up into her and she was gripping his thighs and riding him so, so, so good.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered in her ear, “Take my cock, sweetheart, you take it so good for me. Ridin’ me so good, like you were made for it.” He didn’t let her stop until she was coming again, and then he pulled her down and came deep inside of her.

Afterwards, he pulled her back into bed so he could spoon her—and lazily fuck her from behind until they both came again. He kept his cock in her and teased at her nipples until she was coming again, just from that, and that got him hard enough to drill into her all over again.

They didn’t stop until almost noon.

Fury had said the cameras set up in her apartment weren’t monitored all the time. They had an algorithm to detect suspicious activity. Fury had jibed, awkward and discreet, “Stuff that happens in the bedroom—or stuff that’s _supposed_ to happen in the bedroom—isn’t included in that algorithm”.

He trusted this once Fury demonstrated exactly how the security system worked.

Which meant that they weren’t being watched or monitored by random S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. So he could fuck her without the bed covers on and make her scream as loud as he pleased.

 

The Asset watched. He watched as the Captain bent her over and licked her out, and how the Captain fucked the girl incessantly, relentlessly, and he could even hear the audio as the Captain whispered filthy words into her ear until she was begging and shouting for him.

It was those words. Dirty words said in the heat of the moment. Filthy promises and compliments, murmurs of praise for her. She ate every word up.

But it was the words—something _about_ the words, the Asset thought.

They sparked something in him—some kind of longing, nostalgia. They… they sounded so _familiar_. And he had no idea _why_.

He searched his memories—not that he had many. But he couldn’t remember any faces, any names.

Brief flashes of exposed brick and threadbare white linens and the shell of someone’s ear on his tongue. Then, something different, but the same. Muddy tents and cold nights and warm breaths puffing against the back of his neck. Those words. And bruises sucked into flesh. And _tight, tight, tight, tight_.

A notification rang on the tablet. _“Return to base. Mission cancelled. Prepare for storage.”_

He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointment. He had almost enjoyed this mission, if he were programmed to enjoy things. He was conflicted on leaving. Those were his orders. But he didn’t want to go. He wished he could stay a little longer and watch the pair and their intimacy.

The Asset remembered himself. Shook off the memories that left a dull ache in his head and in his groin.

After all, he wasn’t programmed to want or wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I appreciate all your comments!!


	15. The String Bracelet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve hasn't seen Elena in four months, and now he's trying to find Bucky, too, on top of fighting Hydra with the Avengers. It's a lot for him to process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a time jump to after the events of CA:TWS. I didn't want to just rehash the events as part of the story--we've all seen the movie, after all. I hope you enjoy!

_He dreamed of their last night together before she left. It was the same night as their lazy morning together, after he ate her out and spooned her and fucked her until noon. They dozed off until about 3 in the afternoon and then they were awoken by the sound of her phone ringing._

_“Maldonado,” she answered, voice thick with sleep. A sigh. “Sonora? Really?” A pause. “Who’s my partner?” Another pause. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. “_ What? _Why?” She waited, the person on the other line speaking. Steve would have been able to tune in and hear it if he hadn’t been half asleep._

_Finally, she said, “Fine. I’ll be there.” And she hung up._

_“Who the hell’s callin’ on a Saturday?” he asked groggily, turning and pulling her into him. He knew who called._

_“Fury,” she sighed, “Undercover assignment in Mexico. They said it might take a month, maybe more. They’re sending me alone.”_

_“Excuse me?” he asked, outrage filling his mind and waking him up. He sat up on one arm to look at her. They were both naked, a quilt draped over their bodies, bundling them up against the January cold. “No, you’re not going.”_

_“I don’t have a choice,” She laid a placating hand on his arm.  “Fury said they’d keep me safe.”_

_“How the hell are they gonna do that if you don’t have a partner in there with you?”_

_She shrugged. “I have to trust them.” But her tone was wary. “It doesn’t matter. He said the order came from up high. Above Fury, even.” Looking up at him with something,_ something _in her eyes, she smiled gently at him, like she was trying to convince him she would be fine. “Come here. I leave later tonight. We have a little time.”_

_He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, and she pulled him on top of her, kissing him deep like it would be the last time._

Steve awoke in his bed at the Avengers Tower, sweaty down his back and on his forehead, the shivers running through his body having nothing to do with the temperature. After all, it was May now, and much more temperate outside. That didn’t matter—the chill of that night earlier in the year still bit at his skin, settled deep into his bones.

It was seven in the morning—he’d overslept—and they would be briefing soon. Despite the fact that he was late, he couldn’t get his body to move. He was still stuck in the dream for a few moments, her soft lips on his, warm body underneath, the scent of coffee in the air.

It had been the last time. She left, and he hadn’t seen her in months. He hated to still think of her; his dreams these days were filled with Bucky and Elena. When they weren’t a running film of his memories, they were nightmares.

Sluggishly, he got his body moving, took the quickest shower of his life, and managed to get into the briefing room where all of the other Avengers were already seated with only a few seconds to spare.

“Glad you could finally join us,” Tony quipped, “Wouldn’t want to tarnish your perfect attendance record.”

Steve sighed, stifling a yawn, “Sorry for being late. Rough morning.”

“Here,” Natasha whispered, sliding over a cup of coffee to him. He sipped it and sent her a grateful look before standing up and going over the impending mission. It had become a routine in their search for Hydra bases throughout the world. Briefing, recon, combat, and debriefing, then starting all over again. Fighting their way to eradicate the organization from existence.

It was endless. Steve wondered sometimes if it was futile to even try, but of course he would continue—he had no other option.

“They’ll be monitoring the air traffic in anticipation of us, so we’ll fly into Montevideo and then catch a boat to Buenos Aires so as not to tip anyone off. The Hydra base is off the coast of an area called Quilmes.”

Natasha added, “It’s all underwater, so pack your bathing suits, boys.”

They finished up the briefing quickly, and then they were all preparing to head out.

Steve’s stomach had been in knots as soon as he mentioned Montevideo. Natasha seemed to notice, because she stopped him from leaving the briefing room after the other Avengers had already left.

“Steve,” she said, “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Elena Maldonado. Have you heard anything from her at all?”

Steve let out a long sigh that he had been holding since the beginning of the year. “No,” he answered, “Not since January.”

“When she got called on that undercover mission.”

Steve nodded. “To Mexico, yeah. Nothing since… But… Before—before all this happened…” Before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. “I asked around a bit. I got worried when she hadn’t come back yet. Last I heard, Fury said she was still sending out regular updates to S.H.I.E.L.D. That was in March.”

And then S.H.I.E.L.D. fell in April, and now it was the end of May and he had been so busy that he almost—almost forgot. Forgot that she really wasn’t supposed to be gone.

Tony had moved him to New York, and he was living in the Avengers Tower. All six Avengers were working steadfastly to locate the remainder of Hydra and eliminate them. It was all Steve had been working on for the past three weeks since he had healed from the battle with the Winter Soldier—

 _With_ _Bucky_.

He had also kept himself busy working with Sam to locate Bucky. They had no leads yet, but he had to remain hopeful.

Natasha seemed to consider this. “I ask because Maria was looking through uncompleted S.H.I.E.L.D. missions and Elena’s the only one unaccounted for. I thought I’d ask you because you two—”

“We what?” Steve cut her off, a challenge in his eyes. Steve knew Natasha knew _something_ had happened between Elena and Steve, but she didn’t know the extent of it. He wasn’t in the mood to hear her guesses about their relationship.

Natasha didn’t finish her sentence, thankfully. “We should’ve heard from her by now, don’t you think?”

Steve nodded. “We should have. Yeah.” It was big news that S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. She should have gotten the memo and left whatever undercover mission she had been doing.

Unless something happened to her.

“Unless she’s working with Hydra.”

“ _What?_ ”

Natasha wasn’t fazed. “S.H.I.E.L.D. falls. If she’s working with Hydra—obviously she wouldn’t consider coming back.” Steve was taken aback, and Natasha noticed. “Look, Steve, I’m just saying it’s a possibility we can’t rule out.”

“She’s _not_ Hydra,” Steve said, but even as he said it, he wasn’t sure. He had been deceived before. He had been deceived a whole lot in the past few months.

With a sigh, Natasha gathered a few files that she left on the conference table and said, “Look, we’ll have someone check out her apartment in D.C. Maybe she’s back already and we just didn’t realize it.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. The more he thought about it, that seemed very likely. They had been so busy in New York, no one had thought to check in D.C. to see if she was back. She wouldn’t know that he had moved to New York City. Tony had given Steve a new phone with an unlisted number, which would explain why Elena hadn’t contacted him. “She’s probably back already, but nobody realized.”

Natasha still looked skeptical, but she nodded. “I’ll get someone on it. Let’s go, the jet leaves in twenty.”

_“They’re sending me to the middle of the desert.” Elena set a duffel bag on the bed at Steve’s feet. “How do they even get water and electricity out there?” It was the evening and she was due to leave in three hours. Fury had already sent her electronic files with everything she needed to know._

_Now wearing black tac pants and a military green tank top, she was packing for her trip. She pulled guns out of places where Steve hadn’t realized she stashed guns—behind the TV stand, underneath the bedside table, inside a shoe box. She pulled a few knives seemingly out of thin air._

_When she packed a few extra pairs of tac pants, Steve nudged her bag with his foot. “They said you’re going undercover as a maid. I don’t think you’ll be needing so many cargo pants.”_

_She rolled her eyes. “This is a lot of bullshit.” But she removed a few pairs. Sitting heavily on the bed next to him, she said, “I don’t want to go. This is too long of a mission.”_

_Steve smirked, “But you’ll look so nice in that little maid costume.”_

_She snorted, “They’re not gonna put me in a maid costume.”_

_“Isn’t that what maids wear?”_

_She rolled her eyes and he pulled her sideways into his chest, stroking her back gently with his knuckles. In a small voice, she said, “My mom worked as a maid once.”_

_“You never told me that…”_

_“Yeah. She took me to live in Buenos Aires when I was eight. Worked as a maid, took me around with her on the job. I think we were there for five or six months.”_

_“What happened?”_

_“She went to clean one of the hotel rooms. We went, and usually the people weren’t there when we came to clean. It seemed normal. But there was a picture of me there, on the table in the bedroom. She grabbed me and we were about to leave and my grandfather stormed into the hotel room. He had set it up. Wanted to take me back to Uruguay.”_

_“So he took you?”_

_She nodded against his chest. “She started screaming at him—that he didn’t have any claim to me. He took out a gun, put it to my head. Said if she doesn’t let me go, he’d shoot me.”_

_Steve’s grip on her tightened. “And she let you go?”_

_“No. She said it didn’t matter—she never wanted me anyways, she only took me so he couldn’t have me. That I’d be better off dead than in his custody. So he points the gun at her instead. And she let him take me. I didn’t see her again for two years.”_

_He rubbed her back, kissed her forehead. His blood boiled for her, for the injustice of her family life. She had revealed bits of it to him, piece by piece, but he knew he still didn’t have the whole picture. He wanted to thank her for opening up to him, but he kept his mouth shut, kept her in his arms._

_She pulled away a few minutes later to finish packing._

 

Steve woke up sweating again, this time immediately on-alert from his surroundings. Then he remembered. They had been in Argentina for a week. The jet just landed back at Avengers Tower. He had fallen asleep during the flight and he was exhausted, a dull ache in his side.

Natasha noticed his concern and murmured to him gently, “We’re back.”

He disembarked after her, hands shaking slightly—from the dream or his injuries, he didn’t know.

“You should get that looked at, Cap,” Tony said, gesturing to where Steve was limping off the hangar. He had a pretty bad wound high on his ribcage on the right side. It hurt to walk, hurt to breathe.

Steve grunted, “It’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Dr. Cho can take a look.”

“I’m fine, Tony. Really.” Tony didn’t push anymore.

He managed to get to his room and into the shower before he sunk down on the shower tiles and took at least ten minutes to breathe through the pain. Once he could stand on his own well enough, he washed himself off and got out. He needed to shave, but he didn’t think his hands were steady enough at the moment.

The mission in Argentina was long—complicated recon, a lot of running around chasing dead leads. It all culminated in a big battle with some highly trained Hydra agents in the middle of the city. Turns out, that faction of Hydra had been growing since World War II, after which a group of Hydra Nazis escaped to Argentina to hide out, establishing a large Hydra base in the process.

They were no match against the Avengers in the end, but Steve had let his guard down at one point, got hit with an explosive in the side. His suit took the worst of the firepower, but he still had some pretty painful burns and at least a few cracked ribs.

After he got dressed, which took almost twenty minutes, he saw something at the bottom of his sock drawer that gave him pause.

A small woven string bracelet, alternating shades of blue and yellow. He picked it up, feeling the texture of the yarn between his fingers.

It was Elena’s. He’d seen her wearing it before, multiple times. It must have gotten lost in his laundry—and now it was here.

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. Pocketing the bracelet, Steve made his way slowly to the door and opened it.

Sam and Natasha stood there, side by side.

“What are you doing here?”

“We decided to come to you since you got injured,” Natasha said, “And since you’re being stubborn about seeing a doctor.”

Steve huffed, stepping aside to let them in. “I’ll be fine in a few hours. There’s no damage that won’t be healed in a few hours. And I burn through any pain meds they give me.”

“Take a seat,” Natasha said, going into the kitchenette and grabbing herself a drink. “You want anything?”

Steve gave her a look, then turned to Sam. “What’s going on?”

“I’m here for two reasons,” Sam explained, “I have a lead on him.”

“Really?” Steve’s eyebrows raised, his heartrate increasing. They could find Bucky—they might _really_ find him. Steve could finally have him back, by his side, where he belonged.

“Mm-hmm. Toronto. I’m heading out first thing to check it out.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve sighed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. Sam had been his rock the past few weeks. “I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that a lot,” Sam teased, swatting at Steve’s arm. “Next time, how ‘bout a gift basket or something?”

Steve grinned. Natasha cut in then, “I asked him to check out Elena’s apartment.”

The men sobered, and Sam nodded. “That’s the other reason.”

“You said you were going to get someone on it,” Steve said to Natasha, “Sam’s already doing too much for me.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “He offered.”

“I was already visiting D.C.,” Sam said, defending Natasha, “There’s a few guys from the VA I’m trying to square away before I move out here.”

A little blip of guilt popped up in Steve’s chest whenever Sam mentioned moving to New York—moving his life, all for Steve. But then he focused. “Was she there?” he asked, and he felt like his heart couldn’t get any quicker.

“Nothing,” Sam answered. Disappointment filtered through Steve’s chest, settling in his stomach. “The place hasn’t been touched. Dust everywhere. Calendar’s still on January.”

Steve knew the calendar he was talking about. It had pictures of dogs in funny costumes, and it was hanging up by her refrigerator. January was a terrier in a Pope costume. Elena had laughed for five minutes when she saw it.

“So she’s not back,” Steve concluded.

“Not back there _now_ ,” Natasha corrected. “She could’ve gone back at some point earlier and then left, maybe to take something.”

 “There were cameras,” Steve said, “We put them in for security. Did you find the cameras?”

Sam nodded. “I tapped into the feed, but they stopped recording two months ago. Battery failure. I reset the batteries so we can see the feed now, if anyone comes by. That’s a big if, though.”

“What else? Anything else?” Steve asked Sam, his mind running. Maybe she had gone back to grab something, but he couldn’t think of what she might grab.

“I broke into her safe,” Sam said. Steve didn’t even know she had a safe. “Money—two grand. Birth certificate. No passport.”

“She probably took her passport with her to Sonora,” Steve said. She had once mentioned that she had working visa, so she took her passport everywhere with her religiously, just in case. “What else?”

“A ring,” Sam answered, “Big vintage engagement ring.”

Wait. “Emerald?” Steve asked, “With diamonds?” Sam nodded. Elena had mentioned it before. Her grandmother’s, and Elena took it when she died. “If she had gone back to grab anything before running away, she probably would’ve taken that. And the money.”

“Probably?” Natasha questioned, one eyebrow raised in doubt.

Steve wasn’t really sure. He was realizing that he didn’t exactly know Elena as well as he thought—but he was trying to convince himself that she wasn’t Hydra.

Part of him doubted that, too.

“Who is this woman?” Sam asked, turning to Steve, “Your girlfriend?”

Steve stiffened. “No. Not my girlfriend.”

Natasha scoffed and rolled her eyes, and Steve sent her a sharp look. “I’m just saying,” Natasha sighed, “You spent all that time with her protecting her from the Winter Soldier. Even before that, you two were pretty cozy.”

“And how could you have known that?” Steve snapped. He certainly hadn’t told her. Natasha only looked at him like he was stupid.

“Whoa, wait,” Sam said, “Hold up. What happened with her and Barnes?”

Steve sighed. He truly was exhausted, and all of this hadn’t helped. Natasha answered for him, “Mission in Phoenix, Barnes attacked her, failed to kill her. He tried again in D.C. not too long after, and Steve saved her. After that, they figured he’d try again, but he never did.”

Steve added, “She was called to the mission in Mexico before he could get the chance.”

“So the Winter Soldier, Hydra’s fist, tried to kill her? Multiple times?” Steve nodded. Sam continued, “Doesn’t that prove she isn’t Hydra? Why would they kill one of their own?”

Natasha pointed out, “The list of the Winter Soldier’s victims is varied. It includes former Hydra members. They could have turned on her for a number of reasons—"

“She’s not Hydra,” Steve snapped. Although he couldn’t be sure, he couldn’t help but defend her to his friends. Otherwise, admitting it loud seemed too—too damning.

Sam tried to diffuse the tension. “Okay. So we don’t know where she is. She probably didn’t go back to her apartment in D.C.”

Natasha nodded. “She either hasn’t returned from her mission, or she decided to run after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. That means she left her life behind—and that means she’ll be harder to track down.”

When Steve didn’t respond, Sam said, “Let’s start with the easier option first, then. Let’s look into the mission she went on.”

“I’ll look into it,” Natasha said, “Now if you boys will excuse me, I have a mission report to write, as do you, Rogers.”

She was out the door in no time, leaving a half-empty bottle of water on Steve’s kitchenette counter. Steve turned to Sam once she was gone. “Sam, I don’t want you to feel obligated to help me find her, too.”

“Is she not as important to find?” Sam asked. The question was innocent, genuine—not a jab at Steve, although he felt it in his heart.

Steve sighed. “It’s not about that. You’re doing enough to help me. I don’t want to overburden you.”

Sam rolled his eyes, patting Steve on the shoulder, “Man, this is not a burden. Trust me—I want to help you.”

They shared a genuine smile. “I don’t know how I can repay you, Sam.”

“We’ll have a beer, and you can tell me about her. How’s that sound?”

So they did. And Steve—well, he didn’t exactly know what to say, because they weren’t officially dating and she wasn’t his girlfriend, and he didn’t know if he loved her. But he found the words, eventually. That she was the closest thing to home he had found in this century. And he was afraid of losing that, but he was pretty sure he already had.

 

It was two more weeks until Sam came back from Toronto, empty-handed. Steve stewed in disappointment until Natasha took them both out to lunch the next day at a diner down the street. After the waitress took their orders, she laid several files in front of them and began to inform them about the situation.

“Took a while for me to de-encrypt all these files. Maria helped, but she’s busy with a lot of other S.H.I.E.L.D. fallout. Between S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database and Hydra’s, I think I figured it out.”

The waitress came over with their drinks.

After she walked away, Natasha continued. “Phone’s been decommissioned, of course. Can’t get a GPS signal. Decided to try that first, but no luck.”

“Tell me about her mission,” Steve said. It was the logical place to start.

“Undercover for a gang in Sonora. Drugs, weapons, human trafficking. The police in Arizona haven’t been able to catch them on our side of the border, and Mexican authorities weren’t doing anything. S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to step in when the gang got ahold of some of those biochemical weapons we were chasing back in October. Remember that, Rogers?”

Steve nodded. “She got sprayed with one. We ever figure out what that was?”

Natasha handed him a file. “S.H.I.E.L.D. database suggests it’s some prototype form of a truth serum.”

“Truth serum?” Steve couldn’t believe his ears. Then again, much stranger things had happened since he awoke from the ice. Not two years ago, he was fighting aliens in the middle of Manhattan.

“It works by lowering inhibitions. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been working on the formula for months. After Miami, S.H.I.E.L.D. had her chasing the prototype formula all around. Sent her to Havana, and then Phoenix. That’s where she saw Barnes—seemingly by accident. Then she was attacked the second time and Fury took her off field duty.”

There was a lull in the conversation as the waitress came with their food.

“Why was Bucky after her to kill her?” Steve asked, digging into his hamburger. “Was that a Hydra decision or a S.H.I.E.L.D. decision?” Oftentimes, there didn’t seem to be a difference.

Natasha shrugged, plucked a fry off of Steve’s plate. “The files from Hydra are vague. They thought she was a liability. Rumlow had something to do with it.” Steve wasn’t surprised by this information. “They had Barnes trailing her throughout January. I found out they even tapped into her security cameras. He was watching her. Constantly.”

His burger fell to the plate. He suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. If Bucky was watching those cameras—he was watching them. Together. All the time. Even when—

“Steve?” Sam frowned across the table at him. “You don’t look too good.”

He felt like he might throw up.

 _Bucky_ saw him with _Elena_. He saw _everything_. How much did Bucky realize? How much did he remember? He must not have known it was Steve—not even then. But what about now, now that Bucky had (hopefully) broke free of his brainwashing?

Guilt gnawed at his stomach. This was what he was afraid of. He betrayed Bucky.

“Steve,” Natasha snapped her fingers in front of his face. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but you need to focus.”

Focus—on Bucky. And Elena. And—God, he needed to get out of here.

He stood up abruptly, almost knocking a waitress behind him to her feet. “I can’t,” Steve said, “I can’t do this.”

Steve was out the door before either Sam or Natasha could react.

They looked at each other, wide-eyed.

“What the hell?”

Natasha shook her head. “I have no idea what that was about.” Then she paused, eyebrows furrowing as she seemed to realize something. “Well—I don’t know. If Barnes was watching her apartment, he must have seen them together. Intimately.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Oh. Well, I’m gonna go see if he’s okay.”

She nodded, then grabbed his wrist before he could go. “I think it’s best if we try to figure this one out alone. Steve’s under a lot of stress right now with the Avengers. When we find her—if we find her—it might not end well. And if it doesn’t… I don’t want him to have to face that.”

Sam hesitated, but he nodded. He understood. They might find her dead, or as a part of Hydra. That would tear Steve apart. “We’ll try to find her ourselves, first. See what comes up. Keep me posted.” They might not find her at all, and that might be for the best.

 

Sam and Natasha worked on the case quietly for weeks. Steve didn’t ask about it again. Part of him didn’t want to know what might happen if they found both Elena and Bucky. He didn’t know what he would do if he had them both back in his life.

Every time he thought of her, he was reminded of the situation, and he felt sick. He just couldn’t handle it right now.

He trusted Natasha and Sam to do right by her. They would be able to make rational, reasonable, unbiased decisions about the mission to find her.

He didn’t trust himself to do the same.

The pair had figured it out, though. After looking through all the files between Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D., they found out that Hydra was planning her murder, but Barnes never got the chance. This a mission came up with S.H.I.E.L.D.—the mission with the gang, the biochemical weapons that she was already familiar with. So when S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to set her on the assignment, Hydra allowed it—allowed her to live.

Figuring out the truth serum would benefit Hydra, too, after all. They could always assassinate her later after she had served her purpose.

She went undercover as a maid for the leader of the gang. The gang was experimenting with the truth serum, as well—trying to develop it more so it would work. In secret, she tracked shipments, experiments, test subjects. She sent all of the intel electronically back to S.H.I.E.L.D. every week.

Then, once S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, there were no more communications from her. There hadn’t been a single one since.

There was no solid evidence that she was working with Hydra—not yet. Natasha wasn’t about to let her guard down, however. She didn’t know who to trust anymore.

Natasha hacked into the gang’s servers and found that they had accessed numerous encrypted S.H.I.E.L.D. files, including personnel files—most notably, Elena’s personnel file.

“So they know she’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent,” Sam said.

“They either killed her, or…” Natasha trailed off.

“They might have kept her around if they thought she had information about the truth serum,” Sam suggested. He was hopeful. Natasha was not.

“If they kept her around, it could be for any number of reasons.” Reasons that were not good.

“Let’s just focus on the fact that she might be alive.”

That’s what they did. By the end of June, they had a plan.

They were in a meeting with the Avengers. Of course, Sam wasn’t there—he had elected not to join the Avengers in their fight against Hydra, content to help Steve search for Bucky, and now Elena. The Avengers had just come off a mission a day ago. They had been in South Africa, taking down a small Hydra base in Cape Town. It was easy enough, and now they were looking how to move forward.

Steve was delegating. “Barton and Romanoff, over the next few days can you gather more intel about this next base?”

“Sure thing, Cap,” Clint nodded.

Natasha hesitated. “Actually, Cap, I have another obligation. It shouldn’t take too long—just a couple days.”

“Is it more important than taking down Hydra?” he asked, using his stern disappointed Captain’s voice. He had no idea that she was talking about the situation with Elena.

Natasha wasn’t fazed. She cocked an eyebrow. “It _is_ important, actually. Wilson’s helping me with it. We’ll be in Mexico for the next few days.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Understanding immediately, he only gave her a curt nod. His right hand reached into the pocket of his suit pants, wrapping his fingers around the string bracelet that he had been keeping with him. He didn’t know why he kept it in his pocket all the time. It just settled something in his chest.

“Mexico?” Tony asked, “Sounds more like a vacation, to me.”

Natasha ignored Tony, but after their meeting, she met up with him outside the meeting room. “Tony, I have a favor,” she said, grabbing onto his wrist.

“A favor? Should I be worried?”

“No. Not exactly. Listen—do you remember Elena Maldonado?”

“Elena Maldonado… Maldonado…” Tony searched his mind—then it came to him. “Oh, yeah, light switch girl! What about her?”

“She… may or may not be in need of some rescuing. That’s why we’re going to Mexico.”

“Are you asking me to come along? I’ll get my margarita hat—”

“No, Tony,” she cut him off, and in the back of her mind wondered what his margarita hat was. “You don’t need to come. I just wanted to ask if you could have one of the guest rooms prepared for her—just in case. We’re not sure what kind of shape she’ll be in.”

Tony sobered at this and asked sternly, “Do you know if she’s alive in the first place?”

“We’re hoping,” Natasha said with a tight smile. “Keep this between us, okay?”

“Rogers knows?” Tony confirmed. He didn’t know any of Elena’s and Steve’s history, but Steve was their team captain.

“Some of it. Not all. Like I said, keep it between us.” She turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder. “Could you also loan us a helicopter?”


	16. The Rescue Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Sam go on a mission to find Elena, and what they find is definitely not what they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all your comments and kudos on the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one!

Sam and Natasha left on a helicopter the very next morning. As Sam piloted, Natasha looked over the intel they gathered and they went over the game plan. They had already staked out the area with satellite footage and the help of a few drones that Tony kindly lent to them.

The gang’s compound was in the Sonoran Desert several miles off the Gulf of California, surrounded by saguaro cactus and mesquite trees. Like a desert mirage, the property was a sprawling complex, multiple mansions and warehouses built in close proximity. According to the blueprints they had retrieved, there was an underground network of tunnels below the compound that terminated in a small outpost a few miles out. They would use the tunnels to enter the compound so that they could remain undetected.

Once they got into the compound, they would have to somehow figure out how they could find Elena. Natasha had a few ideas on how to go about that.

Flying into the outpost and shooting out the meager security force from the air was easy, and then they were landing the helicopter and hopping out.

“Man, it’s hot as hell out here,” Sam grumbled, wiping away sweat from his brow. He had on the Falcon suit that Stark had repaired and upgraded for him, but the sweat was making his eye piece slip around.

Natasha grabbed walkie-talkies from the deceased security guards and tossed one to Sam. They had their own comm system to communicate between the two of them, but the radios would let them know if any gang members had caught onto their presence.

“Down here,” Natasha said, pointing to a manhole inside the little shack of the outpost. Sam pried open the cover and they jumped down. The tunnels were dark and slightly cooler—only by a few degrees. That didn’t mean much in 105-degree weather.

The tunnel was two miles long and then it split into more tunnels after that. Each building of the compound had a tunnel entrance. They had already procured a map from Tony’s sonographic imaging drones, but they didn’t exactly know which building Elena was being kept in.

Or if she was alive.

But they weren’t considering that possibility.

However, they did know where the housekeeping quarters were, where all the maids, chefs, and maintenance people were housed.

“Now, most of these people might not speak any English, but we’re pretty close to the border, so who knows.” Natasha was saying, “Do you know Spanish?”

“ _Un poco_ ,” Sam said, “But not much.”

“Let me do the talking then.”

“Where’d you learn Spanish?” he asked her, more conversationally than anything.

“Duolingo, obviously,” she answered, but Sam could hear the sarcasm in her voice. She was a spy—obviously she had her secrets.

After walking for twenty minutes, they were getting closer. “We need to take a right here,” Natasha said, looking over the map, “And then the housekeeping quarters are 100 meters down.”

The tunnel entrance for the housekeeping quarters was locked, but Natasha lasered through the metal and slowly raised the trapdoor cover. It opened into a storage room, and once they climbed up, Natasha told Sam to wait in the room while she surveyed the area.

It only took her five minutes to make her way through all the rooms and check each one for any signs of Elena. The rooms had two bunkbeds each, and each sleeping area had personal effects in them—pictures of children, grandchildren, Rosaries, trinkets. She found no evidence that any of the rooms belonged to Elena, but if Elena were undercover, there would be no hints to her real identity.

As she slipped back into the storeroom, a hand caught her shoulder.

“¿Quién eres tú?” It was a girl, small and skinny, round face, probably not even twenty yet. She wore a grey knee-length dress and an apron—the maid uniform. She looked concerned and confused, and then scared when she glanced back and saw Sam behind Natasha.

Natasha pulled her into the storeroom swiftly, a hand over her mouth. Slowly, Natasha told her in Spanish that she was going to uncover her mouth, and what the consequences would be if she screamed. The girl nodded and looked at Natasha with watery eyes, not making a sound when the hand was removed.

“¿Hablas ingles?” The girl nodded. “We’re looking for someone. You might know her.” Natasha held out her phone, showing a picture of Elena.

Her eyes widened and she nodded, speaking in heavily accented English, her voice shaking the whole time. “Nina. She worked here… b-but not anymore.”

“When did she stop working here?”

“April.”

“What happened?”

Her lip trembled, and she stammered, “The… the bosses, they—they came and took her. They had g-guns, and she fought them.”

Natasha clenched her jaw. “Did they kill her?”

“No. She is alive.”

Sam asked, “Do you know where she is now?”

The young maid shook her head. “She is in the prison. When we deliver food to the prisoners, the maids sometimes see her. They tell me about it.”

“Where is the prison?”

“I have not been to it,” she answered. “I don’t know where it is. I’m s-sorry…” She broke off into tears then, clearly terrified of what might happen.

Natasha pursed her lips and then bent down, running her hand over the girl’s hair to calm her down. “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”

“Lucia.”

Natasha used a soothing, comforting voice. “Okay, Lucia. That’s alright. I need you to help me, though. We’re trying to find Nina so we can help her. We want to get her out of the prison. Can you help me?”

It was a risk—the girl might not want to help, might try to turn them in, but Natasha suspected she was good of heart. Plus, if that were the case, Natasha could easily restrain the girl and figure out another way to get to Elena.

“Y-yes, I can try… But I need to get back to work soon—Ingrid sent me to get more rags and I should not take long.”

“We’ll figure out an excuse for you,” Natasha said, “Now you need to listen to me carefully…”

It took five minutes for Lucia to come back with a maid uniform for Natasha and maintenance coveralls for Sam. Hoping they wouldn’t look too out of place considering most of the housekeeping crew was tan-skinned with dark features, Natasha and Sam changed. Meanwhile, Lucia took a look at the map they had and pointed out the buildings she knew.

“This one is the boss’s mansion. I help clean it every day. These ones belong to the other members.” She pointed to another building, smaller. “The house for _las prostitutas_.”

“Ah,” Natasha nodded, tying the apron behind her, “Prostitutes. Great.”

“We knew there was human trafficking,” Sam shrugged. “Not too surprising.”

 “Okay, let’s locate the prison first. You get in as maintenance, I’ll get in as housekeeping.” Natasha handed him a big toolbox in the storeroom, taking a small tub with various cleaning supplies for herself. “Keep your ears open. Finding Elena will be great—getting the intel that Hydra wanted in the first place would be the icing on top.”

Sam finished zipping up his coveralls and took the toolbox and nodded, but then he said, “It’s ‘icing on the cake’. Or ‘cherry on top’. You can’t just mix them together.” Natasha glared at him. “Just sayin’.”

 They followed Lucia outside and she carefully took them through the halls, trying to avoid other housekeepers. “Everyone is out doing chores,” she whispered, “But we should be careful.”

“How many prisoners do they keep?” Sam asked lowly.

The maid shrugged. “I am not sure. But the other maids say the prisoners go crazy. They get put on drugs until they die.”

Well, that wasn’t very reassuring.

They exited the living quarters into the baking sun. Lucia pointed into the distance at several warehouses. “I do not know what those buildings are. One might be the prison. I have to get back to work now, I have been missing for too long.”

Sam stopped her before she went. “Not so fast. How do we know you won’t tell anyone?”

The girl looked at them determinedly, her knuckles white where she clenched the bundle of rags she took from the storeroom. “Nina was nice to me when I arrived in February. She helped me with my chores. When one of the bosses tried to take me to _el burdel_ ,” she pointed at the small whorehouse a few buildings over, “Nina stopped them. She convinced them not to. I won’t tell anyone you are here. I promise.”

Sam and Natasha shared a look, and he let her go. Natasha said, “Thank you for your help.”

Lucia nodded once. “I hope you find her. _Buena suerte_.”

With that, they parted. Natasha and Sam started towards the buildings.

When they saw two armed guards dragging a man into one of the buildings kicking and screaming, they surmised that it was the prison. “Well, the easy part’s down,” Sam muttered.

Natasha coached him as they walked over. “Tell them you’re there for the plumbing. Say _‘el fontaneria es mala’_. If they ask what the problem is, say it’s the pipes. _‘Las pipas’_.”

Sam nodded and repeated the words. “ _La fontaneria es mala. Las pipas_. Got it.”

“If they ask more, I’ll be there to back you up.”

“This isn’t suspicious at all.”

“It’s not suspicious if you don’t act suspicious. So _relax_.”

They approached the door to the prison, where several armed guards sat, laughing and smoking cigarettes. They stopped talking as the two agents approached.

“¿Que?” one guard asked. He had a thin little mustache and was carrying a gun that was way too big for his body.

“El fontaneria es mala,” Sam said first.

As if luck was on their side, the guard nodded and waved him past, muttering something about a leak in one of the cells. Then he turned to Natasha. He said that the maids had already come for the day. “ _Vete_.” He waved her off.

Well, that wouldn’t do. Natasha put on a sweet smile and used a shy voice. “Oh… _Pero Ingrid me envió_.”

“Ingrid?” The guard confirmed. Natasha nodded. The guard frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. “Ingrid…” he grumbled, waving her on.

Natasha caught up with Sam and pointed for him to go down one hallway while she went down the next. They split up.

The hallways were lined with doors for each cell. Many were empty, but Sam and Natasha checked each one to be safe. As Natasha turned a corner, she saw a few men surrounding a room—several guards and a man in a lab coat. They were speaking about something in low voices in English, but upon seeing Natasha, they stopped.

Quickly, she noted that the door needed some kind of key card to enter.

They looked at Natasha, and she played dumb. “ _Buenos días_ ,” she greeted them, her Spanish accent performed flawlessly.

The man in the lab coat narrowed his eyes. “It’s a nice day out, isn’t it?” He spoke in English and had no Hispanic accent. It was not a question of the weather, but a test to see if she knew English.

“¿ _Que_?” she asked, “ _No hablo ingles_.”

“¿ _Es un lindo día, no_?” he repeated the question.

“ _Sí_ ,” she answered, smiling benignly. She passed them by and turned down the next corner but put dropped a microscopic listening device on the floor near them. She tuned her comm channel into the device.

“She’s a nightmare when you put that stuff in her,” one of the guards was saying. “She tries to attack us every time we come in.”

“Then don’t come in as often,” the scientist said scathingly. “This is important research that your boss wants us to do. We’re going to keep going with the regimen.”

“You have been at it for months,” another guard said. “She screams all night. She won’t eat.”

“She is a _prisoner_. Find a way to control her. You guys have the guns.”

“She is not afraid of us—” one guard was saying before he stopped talking.

The sound of a door opening and closing sounded through the comm. Another man spoke, “The injection is done. We’ll see effects soon.” This scientist had an accent, almost as heavy as some of the guards.

Almost on cue, the sound of screaming echoed through the halls. One loud shout at first, and then a woman screeching, “No, no, no, no, no!” More ear-piercing shrieks followed.

“That her?” Sam asked through the comms. He could hear it from the other side of the building.

“Sounds like her,” Natasha said. “Northwest hallway. Three guards outside and two scientists. I’ll take them out quick as I can.”

“Three guards on this side,” Sam responded. A _thump_ sounded through the comms. “Never mind, two.”

“Meet me there when you’re done.”

Natasha crept back around the corner and immediately pulled her gun, shooting out two of the guards immediately. The remaining guard pulled his gun and shot at her, and she dodged the shots before making quick work of him.

“Not so fast, boys,” she said, pointing the gun at the scientists who were about to run away. She shot right past both their heads and said, “Next time, it’ll hit you between the eyes. On your knees.”

Both scientists fell, shaking in their lab coats, and she kept them at gunpoint. A quick glance in the window of the cell showed Elena, laying on a bed, writhing in restraints. She was still yelling.

“What’d you give her?” Natasha asked. They hesitated, and Natasha shot one of them in the thigh. Ignoring his cry of pain, she said evenly, “Answer me.”

The English scientist answered, “It-it-it’s a compound we made. A drug. It’s supposed to be a truth serum eventually but it doesn’t work yet.”

“No? What does it do instead of making her tell the truth?”

“D-disinhibition. Extreme ag-agitation. Hallucinations and delusions. Mood swings, and restlessness. Tachycardia and hypertension are also side effects we have seen. And—and nausea and vomiting in past formulas.”

“How many formulas did it take to get this one?”

“This is Prototype #21.”

“And how long will the drug last in her system?”

“36 hours.”

“Do you have an antidote?”

“N-no.”

“Where do you keep all the information about these drugs?” The scientist hesitated, and she flourished her gun at him. “Building B! It’s the leftmost warehouse! Please don’t kill me!”

“Oh, I won’t kill you,” Natasha said, voice lighthearted, then incapacitated both scientists with her Widow Bites.

Sam ran up the hall then, panting. “More guards are coming. We gotta get her out, now.”

“She’s shot up with a drug that’s supposed to be the truth serum,” Natasha said, plucking off a key card from the scientist’s coat, then running it through the scanner.

“Supposed to be?”

“So far, it’s only given her psychosis. I guess we’ll see if it really works.”

They slipped into the cell, and Elena looked at them with wild eyes. She was laying on a cot with dirty white sheets beneath her. She wore one of the maid uniforms, but it was filthy and ripped in some places. Her hair was a mess, matted and tangled. She was bruised all over, with several cuts on her face and down her arms. Her wrists were restrained to the frame of the cot, and the skin around them was chafed red and bleeding.

“Agent Romanoff!” Elena greeted, hysteria lacing her voice. “And a maintenance man! Well, these hallucinations sure are getting creative, aren’t they?”

“At least she’s lucid,” Natasha muttered to Sam.

“Is that what you call lucid?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

“Elena,” Natasha stepped towards her, using a calm voice. “We’re here to get you out.”

“Oh, great,” Elena snorted, “Yeah, I thought I stopped having these hallucinations where people try to break me out, like, three weeks ago. Or—I don’t know. I don’t know what day it is. No windows, you know?” She laughed like it was actually funny.

Natasha reached to uncuff Elena, and Elena immediately started thrashing around. “Don’t fucking touch me!” she shrieked, kicking her legs.

“Care to help me?” Natasha asked Sam wryly.

“No, not really,” Sam muttered, but stepped forward to restrain Elena, who was still shouting at them to stop. “Girl’s got a mouth on her.”

“I’ve never heard her curse this much before,” Natasha said, a little amused, a little wary. At least Elena was alive, even if she was drugged out of her mind—that was just another thing they had to worry about now. She unlocked the handcuffs from the bed and then used them to cuff Elena’s hands behind her back. “There, now you can’t hurt us as we try to save your ass.”

“ _Fuck. You._ ” Elena spat at her.

“She’s nice when she’s not on mood-altering drugs,” Natasha reassured Sam. “You’ll see.” She turned to Elena. “You’re gonna have to keep quiet while we get you to the helicopter or else people are gonna follow us.”

Unfortunately, Elena continued to scream as Sam threw her over his shoulder. “Can’t you do something about her?” Sam grumbled.

Natasha sighed. “Didn’t wanna have to do this, but…” Promptly, she shocked Elena with her Widow Bites and Elena fell silent, slumped over Sam’s shoulder. “That really did the trick.”

“She gonna be okay?”

“She will be in 36 hours when the drug wears off,” Natasha answered.

“Should we be worried?”

Natasha shrugged, “Apparently she survived 20 other versions of this drug.”

“Yeah, and she’s not looking too good, if you haven’t noticed.”

Aside from Elena’s general dirtiness and manic behavior, she was thinner than before, likely malnourished. Her skin had a grey tinge, and she had a few obvious injuries other than the lacerations and bruising. Her kneecap was swollen up to the size of a softball and her wrist was kinked at an odd angle.

 “She’s better off in our care than here,” Natasha said, “I have no doubt she’ll survive the helicopter ride, and then Dr. Cho and Bruce can take care of her.”

“If you say so,” Sam said, “We need to get out of here quick, though.”

“Listen, Sam, I need to find the intel on this drug. It’s in the next warehouse. You fly her back to the copter. I’ll go through the tunnels and meet you there.”

“You sure?” Sam asked unsurely, “We’ve been found out now. They’re gonna come after you.”

Natasha only smirked and cocked her gun. “I think I can handle them.”

Natasha was back at the helicopter only seven minutes after Sam was.

“That was fast,” Sam said, starting up the helicopter. He already had Elena strapped in the back. She was still unconscious.

Natasha showed him a flash drive. “It’s easy when they keep all their data on one server for me to find.”

“Rookie mistake.”

“Seems this gang cares more about drugs and prostitutes than protecting highly advanced biological weaponry. I suppose Elena can give us the entire rundown once she’s awake and back to normal.”

“So… They’ve been testing this—this _truth serum_ on her?”

“Suppose so,” Natasha nodded. “Once S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, they must have thought she’d be a good candidate. They would have had her files—she doesn’t really have any family. Nobody to come looking for her.”

“Guess they didn’t expect us to come looking.”

“Yeah, well… We’re a few months too late. God knows what this shit’s done to her in the meantime.”

 

They got back to the Tower in a few hours and radioed to Tony beforehand to have a medical team waiting. They brought Elena down to the medical deck and Dr. Cho took over after Natasha explained the situation. Despite the bizarre circumstances, Tony and Bruce immediately started working on analyzing the formula.

“The original pharmaceutical agent started with a whole cocktail of chemicals,” Bruce muttered, “Included everything from ethanol to LSD. They kept tweaking it and testing it on her to control for different side effects.”

“What’s in the one she was given today?” Tony asked, glancing over to where Elena was laying on a cot across the medical deck.

“It’s a slew of different stuff. Looks like one component is 3-Quinuclidinyl benzilate, otherwise known as BZ.”

“Substance 78,” Natasha said. She knew of it from the Red Room. “An incapacitating agent. That’s serious stuff.”

“There are also various stimulants—primarily amphetamine—and trace amounts of LSD. Various stabilizing agents, and a few compounds that I’m not quite sure the use of in this case.”

“Doc, how’s she doing?” Tony called to Dr. Cho.

“She’s still unconscious,” she answered. That was to be expected. Elena had woken up from the first shock right before they arrived, so Natasha had to incapacitate her again when she got too agitated. “Her EKG shows atrial fibrillation which can occur after the ingestion of stimulants. Her heart rate is 118 and her blood pressure is 145/102. Temperature is 107. High heart rate, hypertension, and fever are common with BZ.”

Bruce sighed. “Since we have no antidote, we have to wait for her body to metabolize the drug on its own.”

Dr. Cho continued, “We’ll give her fluids and try to cool her body down. Hyperthermia is a big concern, and we’ll watch her heart rhythm. When she wakes up, no doubt she’ll be agitated and possibly have other psychotic symptoms. We can sedate her and treat for pain until it passes.”

Tony rubbed his face. “Who’s gonna call Cap in?”

“No,” Natasha said firmly, “We can’t call him in yet. He shouldn’t see her like this.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean? He’s the team leader, shouldn’t he be aware of this?”

“This isn’t an Avengers mission,” she answered, “This is… closer to home. We rescued her from a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission gone wrong and now she’s paying for it.”

“So why exactly can’t Rogers know?” Tony asked, “Because if this happened because S.H.I.E.L.D. went down, he’s gonna want to know.”

“Just—” Natasha held her hands up to stop him, “Just give it until she wakes up, at least. Then we can go from there.”

Tony looked back at Elena, then to Natasha, the points connecting in his brain. “Is something going on with him and—”

“No!” Sam interjected, knowing his friend wouldn’t want Stark meddling in his personal business. “Nothing like that.”

Natasha tried to clear things over. “Look, he tried to protect her earlier in the year, and then she went on this mission. If he saw her like this, he would really beat himself up about it. Okay?” That was enough of the truth, Natasha thought.

Tony only raised his eyebrows. “Yep. Got it. Don’t tell Cap until she’s awake.”

As if on cue, Elena roused. It went very similar to how she woke up on the helicopter.

“What the fuck—” she sat up instantly, groaning. “What the fuck is all this?” Her hands went wild, trying to rip out her IV and the EKG wires on her chest. “No—no! Get me out of here—I don’t—”

It only got worse as the medical personnel tried to calm her down. Curses flew around between blood-curdling screeches. She had use of her hands now, and at least three medics got punched in the face, and Dr. Cho was thrown to the ground.

Natasha, Sam, Tony, and Bruce all went over to try and calm her down.

“Get the fuck off me!” Elena was screaming. With her skin pale, eyes bloodshot, and hair a wild nest around her head, she looked like something out of a horror film. The machines she was hooked up to were beeping rapidly, warning them of her dangerously high heart rate and blood pressure, but the noise was lost to her screams.

They were each holding a limb down, but she was stronger than she looked in her drug-fueled rage. Tony got kicked in the face and Elena had just managed to wrap her hand around Natasha’s throat when a medic finally stabbed her in the upper arm with a needle.

As soon as he finished pushing the plunger of the syringe, Elena’s fight weakened, and slowly she began to relax. Her muscles slackened and she slumped down on the cot, blinking around hazily.

“Elena,” Natasha said, her voice scratchy from being choked. She rubbed at the skin on her neck where Elena had dug her long nails in. “You’re going to be okay.”

Dr. Cho was at her side in an instant. “Can you tell me if you’re in any pain?”

Elena groaned and her body twitched, “Everywhere. Hurts everywhere.”

“We’ll get you some pain medication.”

“This is the worst hallucination yet,” she murmured before falling asleep, her body still twitching periodically.

“Get padded restraints for her wrists,” Dr. Cho ordered. “Is everyone okay?”

A few bloody noses and black eyes, but nothing serious.

“Did that shit give her inhuman strength, too?” Tony asked, taking an ice pack from one of the medics and slapping it over his swollen eye. “Do we have another super soldier on our hands?”

Bruce breathed out, weary. “No, I think that was just the adrenaline rush.”


	17. The Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds out that Elena has returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait! My classes are starting back up so I have been pretty busy, but I hope (HOPE) to continue to put chapters out on a semi-regular basis.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The next 24 hours were no walk in the park.

Dr. Cho titrated her sedation enough so that Elena was lucid and awake, but not agitated and violent. She would have preferred to have been asleep for the entire ordeal instead.

Her body burned, every inch of her skin prickling with sharp pain. Around the injection site was the worst, where it was flushed red and swollen. Her fever went down with help from some advanced cooling blankets Dr. Cho used. The dysrhythmia in her heart remained so it felt like her heart was skipping rope inside her chest. She never felt like she was taking enough breaths even with the oxygen mask, like a huge weight sat on her lungs.

The hallucinations were the worst. She originally thought that being rescued was a hallucination (and she still wasn’t entirely sure if it was real), but she was having other hallucinations on top of that. She saw monsters, demons, random people. Her mother. Her old teammates, Valeria and Eduardo.

She cried and begged for forgiveness, and then hallucinated darkness descending upon her.

 Dr. Cho had finally had the chance to do a full physical examination with Elena more complacent from the sedatives, and found a lot of injuries and ailments, not all of which were due to the drug.

Her wrist was broken and had been for some time—Dr. Cho estimated at least four weeks based on the healing pattern—and her kneecap had been shattered a few days prior. Several ribs were cracked, she had a concussion, and a dislocated shoulder. There were lacerations all along the bottom of her feet and cactus spines imbedded in them. Not to mention that she was malnourished, anemic, dehydrated.

The physical injuries were clearly due to abuse and maltreatment endured in Mexico, but Elena couldn’t even remember getting some of these wounds.

Her lab results showed impaired heart, kidney, and liver function. Dr. Cho imagined being injected with at least 21 versions of the drug had taken a pretty bad toll on her organ systems. Unfortunately, they would have to wait and see if they could repair themselves or how much lasting damage there would be.

She was in such bad shape that Dr. Cho had no idea how she had managed to fight them off so well in her panic. That drug must have had an incredible effect on the sympathetic nervous system to induce such a visceral fight response.

To help with her various ailments, they gave her blood products and fluids, explored advanced fixation devices for her broken bones, and already had her shoulder set back into place and resting in a sling. Tony, Bruce, and Dr. Cho had been working together for some time now to innovate in the field of medicine, and now they had plenty of inventions that could help Elena.

But Elena didn’t really understand the details on what they were talking about. Tony assured her she would be back on her feet in a few weeks despite her rundown condition, and although that seemed like a load of fantasy-sci-fi garbage to Elena, she wasn’t about to tell that to Tony, who she still suspected of being a hallucination.

After all, if she was really with the Avengers, wouldn’t Steve have come visited her already?

It was almost noon the next day, and Dr. Cho had just finished explaining the case to half of the Avengers.

“How’s she doing now?” Natasha asked. “The drug should be wearing off in about ten hours or so.”

“She had a long night,” Dr. Cho answered, “However, she’s more lucid. Less agitated. She keeps asking to leave, and she tried as much when we took off the restraints. She tried to walk on her bad knee before we could stop her. But the side effects of the drug are wearing off—we can see that she’s weaning from it.”

“The biggest thing we might have to worry about sounds like the long-term damage,” Sam said, “Can you fix that?”

“Once we see what we’re dealing with,” Dr. Cho said, “We’ll do an echocardiogram and look at her enzyme levels to see how her organs are doing. We can do tests to measure their function.”

Tony added, “If she is significantly impaired, I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

Bruce nodded, “However, one concern with the mix of agents she was drugged with is memory loss and neurological damage. It may be prudent to get her in for a briefing sooner rather than later.”

“She’s in no condition for that,” Sam said.

“If it’s such a concern,” Natasha said, “We should see how she feels about it. The least we can do is ask, you know. Give her some agency in all this.”

“I like that idea. Plus, then we can see if this truth serum really works,” Tony quipped.

 

Steve wasn’t having the best day. He had lost too much sleep to his nightmares of Bucky and Elena, he got his ass kicked three times by Thor during training, and he just couldn’t focus on planning the next mission.

They would be headed to San Francisco in a week, taking down a Hydra base in the Bay Area. There was recon to do, maps to analyze, personnel files to comb through. But he just couldn’t focus.

His nightmare kept replaying in his head.

_He was laying in her bed, and they were just kissing. Touching. Enjoying each other. He saw them both, like he was watching in third person, an unwanted observer._

_She smelled like the rain and the ocean and the earth. It was her. Her taste, her scent, all over him. The way she felt, too—soft and warm everywhere, especially between her thighs. Noises so sweet it made his teeth ache, grabbing onto him and whispering tenderly in his ear._

_“I want you,” she whispered. Her words dragged on and echoed in the fake reality of his dream. She sounded so distant and he couldn’t hear her right, like she was speaking to him from the other end of a tunnel. “Take me, Steve.”_

_But the image distorted. Almost like it was off-kilter, like he was looking at it from a wrong angle. The atmosphere soured, and he was cold._

_And Bucky was there, at the foot of her bed. Metal arm glinting in the light. Knife in his hand. He didn’t say anything. He looked at Steve, right in the eyes, didn’t stop looking even as he brought one leg onto the bed, thick black knee padding sinking into the fuzzy yellow cashmere bedspread._

_He kept eye contact with Steve as he climbed towards him, over his hips, straddling him with strong, unyielding thighs. His metal hand reached over, grasped Elena around the neck. Her gasp was cut off to a gurgle as Bucky closed off her windpipe._

_He choked her slowly, and Steve could feel every breath leaving her lungs as her eyes blew wide open in panic._

_Steve tried to reach for her, for Bucky, to stop him. But he was stopped by the cold, sharp blade of a knife on his throat. Bucky pressed, not to kill him, but just enough to draw blood._

_“Steve,” Elena choked out, terror in her voice, “Please, Steve,” she begged. He had always loved it when she begged, but not like this. Never like this._

_A sickening crunch sounded as Bucky crushed her windpipe. A line of blood from Steve’s throat dripped down onto the yellow blanket, staining the sunny-soft fabric._

_Bucky was still holding Steve’s gaze. “You could have stopped it,” Bucky said, voice low, eyes sad._

Steve snapped out of it when he realized his hands were shaking.

This conflict inside him. It haunted him every night. Last night was worse because he knew Natasha and Sam had gone to possibly find Elena. He didn’t know how that turned out. They hadn’t come to him when their helicopter arrived, so he figured he didn’t want to know the outcome.

He knew he was being a coward, avoiding the Elena situation. He didn’t know what else to do. He felt so guilty for being with her, and every time he thought of her, he thought of Bucky. The betrayal.

But not just that. He thought about how Bucky had tried two times to kill Elena. How he had been set on murdering her if not for Steve’s protection and intervention. He felt so torn about it, his anguish not only for Elena, who had been so paranoid in those last few months, but also for Bucky.

Bucky, who had been brainwashed and forced to kill so many people. Forced to target Elena, to fight her. He couldn’t imagine how Bucky was feeling, but he just wished he knew. He wished he knew where Bucky was so he could help him.

His stomach twisted in knots every time he thought of Bucky alone, discovering himself again, figuring out his resume of crimes.

It was lunchtime. Deciding he needed to get some fresh air, he chose to take his lunch to the veranda on that floor. He wasn’t hungry but he forced himself to eat, not tasting the food, but knowing he needed his strength for the mission.

However, he was certainly in for a surprise when he passed the debriefing room on his way back to his office and saw her.

Steve stopped dead in his tracks, like someone had snipped the connection between his brain and his feet.

Elena was sitting there at the conference table in a wheel chair. Natasha was sat next to her, Tony (with a black eye?) and Bruce at the head of the room, Sam and Dr. Cho across from Elena. She was _back_ , and she was— _alive_.

Well, she looked terrible. He didn’t know what to look at first.

Her hair was matted and messy, and there were multiple cuts and bruises on her face and arms. She was wearing light-colored scrubs, like the kind the medical staff wore.

A sling was wrapped around one arm to support her shoulder and her wrist was wrapped in a brace, resting on a half-melted ice pack on the table in front of her. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, and her face was gaunt and pale, dark undereye circles and chapped lips. She was a lot thinner than he remembered.

Something bad had happened. Something very bad.

When she spoke in response to Natasha, she grimaced.

Elena didn’t have the chance to say anything else when Steve wrenched open the door, ignoring the crunch of the metal handle under his grip. Not having realized he had been outside the door, she looked at him in shock, speechless.

He looked back at her, heart clenching as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Elena,” he said, his voice only a whisper.

“Steve.” The voice came from Natasha, and Steve barely even glanced at her to acknowledge her. His eyes were back on Elena at once, throat feeling painfully tight.

“I didn’t know you were back,” he said, voice cracking a little on the last word. He cleared his throat and steeled himself.

“Steve,” it was Sam now, and he was beside Steve, “We found her yesterday morning. It’s… a lot. We were going to brief you later.”

“Brief me now,” Steve commanded, voice stern. Although he hadn’t known what to expect when or if Elena came back, he certainly hadn’t expected to see her so broken, nor had he expected every single ounce of affection he ever felt for her to come rushing back and settle in his chest. He had to know what happened to her.

“Just take a minute,” Sam put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He didn’t take a seat—he thought if he did, he would explode.

It was only when he had calmed down the storm inside his brain that he finally realized Elena was shaking. Her entire body trembled; broken, dirty fingernails tapped the table restlessly. She twitched occasionally, like a tick running through her body. Then she winced, made a little noise in the back of her throat, brought a hand up to rub her temple, drawing the attention of the room away from Steve and towards her.

“Elena,” Dr. Cho said gently, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m on crack,” she answered immediately, still rubbing at her head.

“That would be the amphetamine,” Bruce said.

“Got a lot of experience with crack cocaine, do you?” Tony asked her sarcastically.

“My mother was a crack whore, so yeah,” she answered casually, unfazed by the awkward silence that followed.

Several people glanced at Steve, but his eyes were still on her.

“Can someone please explain to me,” he said slowly, voice low, “What is going on?”

Natasha took it upon herself. “We found her at the gang compound in Sonora yesterday. They injected her with a drug they had been working on. It’s supposed to be a truth serum—we’re not sure how effective it is.”

Elena interjected, “Well I just told you all my mom’s a drug addict, and I sure as hell didn’t want to do that. I’d say it’s working pretty well this time.”

“ _This time_?” Steve echoed, eyes flickering between Elena and Natasha.

Natasha once again offered information first. “Why don’t we start at the beginning? Elena was called for that undercover job in Mexico, working as a maid. She was supposed to be tracking the development of a truth serum for S.H.I.E.L.D. That was why the assassination attempt was called off—”

“Wait, what does that have anything to do with that _menace_ with the metal arm?” Elena asked. Steve flinched at her words. “I figured he just couldn’t find me in Mexico and gave up. Not that I’m complaining.”

“How much have you told her?” Steve asked, realizing she had no idea S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra were connected.

“Nothing,” Elena grumbled, “They haven’t told me anything except about my injuries.”

Natasha sighed. “The man who tried to kill you was called the Winter Soldier. He belonged to Hydra. I assume you know about Hydra?”

Elena glanced to Steve and back at Natasha. “The Nazi group from World War II? Yes.”

Natasha continued. “Hydra continued to function even after the war. Your first run-in with the Winter Soldier was an accident, but Hydra ordered the second one so he could finish the job. Steve got there first, luckily.”

“So what does that have to do with my mission?” Elena asked, getting more annoyed by the second.

Nobody answered for a beat, and then Tony said, “Hydra was S.H.I.E.L.D. It had been growing within S.H.I.E.L.D. since after the war.”

Steve swallowed, seeing the realization dawn in her eyes. She looked sad, torn, and then angry. “So who was I working for?”

Natasha placed a hand on Elena’s own. “That’s hard to answer. We don’t really know. It’s hard to tell where S.H.I.E.L.D. ended and Hydra began. Fury was never part of Hydra—but there are plenty of people who were double agents.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, “What, Nat, so you don’t think Elena could be one of those people anymore?”

Elena narrowed her eyes, hurt flashing in them. “You think I would—I would…”

Natasha cut in, “No, Steve, this entire situation makes it pretty clear that she’s not. Can we continue now so you can get the whole picture?”

Steve clenched his jaw, but Sam’s strong grip on his shoulder forced him to relax. He looked at Elena, who still looked so wounded—almost betrayed. “Fine. So S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. What happened to you then? Why didn’t you come back from Mexico?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. fell? What the fuck do you mean S.H.I.E.L.D. fell?”

Tony sighed. “We haven’t gotten that far on updating her yet,” he told Steve. “Way to spoil the big reveal. Project Insight is the climax of our story. Never watch movies with this guy.”

“Tony,” Natasha reprimanded, holding up one hand.

“Can someone explain to me what the fuck is going on?” Elena demanded. Steve very much felt the same sentiment. Natasha explained about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s downfall, Project Insight, how they thwarted the attempt, and how all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files were leaked onto the internet before the Triskelion was destroyed. When Natasha mentioned Steve fighting the Winter Soldier, Elena gasped.

“You fought him?” Elena asked Steve, wide-eyed.

“Yes,” he answered, clipped. “I… fell into the Potomac. I was pretty badly injured. And he saved me.”

Then she looked confused. “What?”

“Time for the second plot twist,” Tony said, but snapped his mouth shut at the look Steve gave him.

“The Winter Soldier is actually my childhood friend, James Buchanan Barnes. Hydra found him when he fell to his death and turned him into a super soldier, like me.”

She looked close to tears again, and she breathed out a slow breath through pursed lips. “He… he tried to kill me… twice…”

“Yes.”

“And he was your friend… Bucky…”

“Yes…” Steve repeated, his voice a whisper. He had told her about him—not everything, of course, but enough for her to know how close of friends they were, how much he meant to Steve.

A tear slipped down her cheeks and she wiped it away with a shaking hand.

“Elena,” Bruce said, “If this is too overwhelming for you—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, teeth gritted, eyes drying immediately. “Let’s move on.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed, voice hardening at her sudden mood change. “What the hell happened to you?”

Her eyes shot to his, narrowed. “I was doing well those first few months, getting intel in and out of the compound and back to S.H.I.E.L.D. Or Hydra. Whichever, I guess. Then in April, the bosses—they came and got me, put me at gunpoint, and threw me in a cell. Beat me up a little. Wouldn’t tell me what the hell was going on.”

“They must have figured out your identity when the S.H.I.E.L.D. files dropped,” Natasha said, filling in the blanks.

“Well they knew somehow that I was trying to steal data on the drug. I didn’t even _look_ at the data. All I knew what that it was a biochemical weapon. But they thought I knew something, so they tortured me for information. When I didn’t talk, they decided to inject me with the drug. I only found out later that it was a truth serum, so all that makes sense now, I guess.”

“They tried it on you?” Steve asked, voice going softer. Elena nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

Bruce continued, “They injected her with at least 21 different versions of the truth serum.”

“They used me as a guinea pig,” Elena cut him off. “I remember all of it. I’m sure you guys have all the data on me, but I’ll give you an abridged version. It was every couple of days they would come in with another vial of that shit. Different side effects sometimes, but still hell. I don’t know what changes they made to the drug each time, what kind of poison they were putting in me. But it wasn’t fun.”

“There are a lot of different components to the drug you were given this time.” Bruce mentioned.

She nodded. “I don’t know what the differences were. Some of them put me right to sleep for days at a time. Some of them made me throw up constantly. One of them made me bleed everywhere—like my blood wouldn’t clot or something.”

Bruce went through the side effects from the current version, what she had been through in the past 24 hours alone. The pain, the psychological effects. He kept it clinical, but every new ailment he mentioned had Steve’s stomach turning.

Once he was done, they were all silent for a long moment as Steve digested the information, waiting for him to react. Finally, Elena said, “I still haven’t ruled out the idea that this might be a hallucination.” Steve just looked at her, not knowing what to say. She barely noticed as she rambled on. “It’s very creative of my brain, though. I don’t think I’m this creative.”

Tony said, “Well, maybe your mind has just finally cracked.”

She looked for a second like she was going to laugh at the jibe, but then her face sobered and she looked at Tony like she believed him. Her expression broke, and she looked like she might cry. Steve remembered what Bruce said about the mood fluctuations, but he hadn’t expected it to be so quick, so obvious.

“No,” Steve was saying, “No, no. Stark, that’s enough.” It was silent for a moment, and Steve asked, “What are her lasting injuries?”

They detailed the break in her wrist, the dislocated knee and shoulder. The concussion. Steve thought about how she was prone to migraines after the last one, wondered if it would be the same this time.

“She’s got a slew of lacerations on her feet, but we got all the cactus spines out—”

“Cactus spines?” Steve asked, cutting Bruce off. He looked to Elena for answers.

She looked a little sheepish. “I escaped. Maybe the second week I was there—I’m not sure. I just took off running. But the Sonoran Desert is filled with cacti and mesquite trees. And I was barefoot.” A shrug. “I could have planned better, but I was half out of my mind by then.”

“They found you?”

“Yeah, a few hours later. I was passed out, the heat got to me. I don’t know why they didn’t just leave me to die. Probably would’ve been easier…” She trailed off, looking at her torn fingernails. Her lip trembled a little, and she seemed to get lost in her head for the rest of the debriefing as Natasha, Bruce, and Tony detailed the data that was collected.

When they realized she wasn’t being as responsive, they made the decision to wrap things up. Natasha used a soft tone as she spoke to Elena. “The drug will wear off soon. If you’re feeling bad, we’ll take you back to the med bay and you can sleep some more. It should only be about 8 hours now.”

She nodded. “Yes. Yeah, that might be for the best.”

Bruce wheeled her out, and as soon as the door closed, Steve turned on Tony and Natasha. “Why the hell did you bring her here for debriefing? She’s in no state to deal with this right now.”

“One effect of the drug may be memory loss,” Tony explained, “We did what we thought was best. Luckily, she hasn’t exhibited any signs of amnesia yet.”

“Yet?”

“We’ll keep monitoring her.”

“Are we going to go take out the gang that kidnapped her?” Steve felt riled up, ready to throw some punches.

Natasha said, “It might be best to wait until she can help us. She knows more about them than we do. It would make that mission a whole lot smoother.”

“So what the hell are we supposed to do now?”

“We’ll wait until she’s healthy enough to be discharged,” Tony said, “Then she can help us here in New York, or she can go back to D.C. Her choice.”

“She’s gonna need support,” Natasha said, looking pointedly at Steve. “I know you’ve got a lot going on right now, but she’s going to be in a fragile state of mind for a while. She’s gonna need someone in her court.”

Tony looked between Natasha and Steve, looking as though he just put together all the pieces of this puzzle. “You and Maldonado were together?”

Steve stood, refusing to answer. “I have work to do. Update me on her condition as it changes.”

 

_“Captain Rogers, I have been asked to inform you that Agent Maldonado has been sedated and is now asleep.”_

“Thank you, J.A.R.V.I.S.” Steve said. He was relieved. The last he heard, she had tried to leave again, was stopped by the staff, and was restrained again after becoming violent. Apparently she could really throw a punch in this state—at least that’s what Tony said, which explained the black eye.

Steve was still in his office, even though it was almost ten at night. He had gotten almost nothing done during the day, his mind stuck between Bucky and Elena.

Now that she was back, he would surely have to choose between them. Bucky had attacked Elena twice, for God’s sake—there was no way she would be accepting of Bucky when—or if—they ever found him. She probably wouldn’t even want him looking for Bucky in the first place.

So he would have to make the choice. Being with Elena or continuing his search for Bucky.

Well, the choice was obvious. Bucky was his closest friend, his first love, his family. Bucky was the only thing Steve had ever known. It was a matter of loyalty, and he would never give up on Bucky.

He had enjoyed being with Elena. She had become his home in D.C., a comforting part of his life. But he had known her for far less time. Their relationship didn’t have the same depth as his and Bucky’s did.

It made his chest ache, made him bite his lip to keep tears from gathering in his eyes. He didn’t want to give up what he had with Elena, but he saw no other choice.


	18. The Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Elena are both broken in the aftermath of their trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I haven't updated in like a month and I am so sorry!!! I have been so busy with work and school so it's hard to write, but I finally got this chapter out and I hope you lovely readers enjoy it!

Elena couldn’t believe the magic Dr. Cho had worked on her body. Injuries that should have taken weeks and months to heal were repaired in little under a month. Multi-organ failure that should have left her dying in the ICU were fixed in no time with only a warning to not drink alcohol for a few months.

Advanced hydrocolloid bandages healed the cuts on her feet in a few days. They had set her knee and wrist with nanotech pins that regenerated the bone and cartilage in only a few weeks. They attached grafts to her liver, kidneys, and heart that encouraged tissue healing and repaired her organs better than a transplant could have.

For the next few months, she would have to do physical therapy to regain full mobility of her arm and leg, and even more after that if she wanted to be back in fighting condition. She still had occasional neurogenic pain from where the drug fried her nerves, and she had migraines more often than she cared for. But she would take all of this over being dead.

Elena was trying to take everything in stride. What else could she do?

Her brain was scrambled, she still felt intensely embarrassed for how she attacked people in her drug-addled rage, and she had nightmares of her experience every night. Images of her torturers, her hallucinations, of scenarios where the truth serum worked and she had to tell the entire gritty truth about her grandfather while Steve was there listening. Those were the worst.

Steve had visited her while she was in the medical unit a few times. Not often. He explained that there was a lot of work to do, cleaning up Hydra around the world. She couldn’t even imagine.

So much had happened, she could barely process it all. She was confused about Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D.—had she been doing missions for Hydra the entire time? Which of her fellow agents were good and which were bad?

Steve had thought _she_ might have been one of the bad ones. She remembered that, when he asked Natasha if they had ruled her out as being a Hydra operative. Elena guessed her entire experience being kidnapped and experimented on ruled that out somehow, but it still stung that he would think she was capable of that.

He was distant with her, only offering tight smiles and his serious voice he used as Captain America. It was like he was only the leader of the Avengers—like he wanted to forget everything that happened between them. Well, she couldn’t forget. And she wasn’t about to let him grow cold with her—not again.

 She was discharged from the medical bay after a few weeks and Tony set her up in a guest room on the Avengers residential floor. There was a common room and kitchen area, and apparently Steve lived on the same floor—as did all the other Avengers.

During her time at the tower, she had gotten to know the others. Natasha was turning out to be her rock in her recovery, visiting her frequently and encouraging her during physical therapy. Clint had become friendly with her, bonding over their shared experience with S.H.I.E.L.D. Bruce always explained his research on the truth serum to her when she asked. Thor was a very kind person and she loved hearing about his home planet. Tony was helpful and provided her with a new phone and passport, and he had even had some of her belongings shipped from D.C. to New York.

The mornings were reserved for physical therapy, trying to get more range of motion in her knee and shoulder and trying to build up cardiac stamina again. Afternoons were spent with Natasha or Clint, going through electronic files of the Sonoran cartel, mapping out the compound, and coming up with a plan for how to infiltrate it and take the gang down.

It was a lot of work. They would need to find the gang leader, a reason to extradite him to the U.S., figure out what to do with the freed human slaves, and make sure none of the gang members got away. All in the middle of the desert. In the summertime.

Elena found herself working late into the night and early morning to get everything done on time. She didn’t mind—she needed a break from the nightmares and flashbacks, and this gave her exactly what she needed. It was almost mindless for her, chasing leads, tracking down shipments, analyzing strategies. The busywork prevented her from getting into her head too much, stopped her from thinking back on those dark nights in the middle of the desert.

It was the early morning the day of the mission and Elena was mulling around in the kitchen, waiting for the pre-mission briefing to start in the conference room. The only people who had yet to be seated were Tony and Steve, and Tony was coming down all the way from his office, so they had a few minutes to spare. Elena had only gotten one hour of uninterrupted sleep the night before, so she desperately needed coffee, and everyone else had eagerly given her their coffee orders when she asked.

Pressing another button on the over-the-top fancy cappuccino maker, she wrinkled her nose at the forlorn beeping the machine made.

“Just _make_ the coffee,” she growled at the machine. “You’re a big expensive machine, you should know how to make coffee. I’ve made coffee with a lace stocking and coffee beans ground up with a rock. All you need to do is—” As the machine powered down suddenly, she couldn’t help the expletives that left her mouth.

“Need some help?” Steve’s deep voice came from the doorway of the kitchen, and when she turned, she saw him standing there with a coffee mug of his own. He wore dress slacks and a blue button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up around his forearms.

She wondered if he owned shirts that fit him.

He said her name and she realized she had been staring.

“Oh—” she stuttered at first, then promptly turned back to the coffee machine. “Trying to make coffee for everyone. I just don’t know how to work this thing…” She ran her hand across the top of the appliance.

Steve nodded in understanding. He had fought this fight with Stark’s fancy Italian cappuccino machine before, and he had learned how to fix it. He brushed past her and turned the machine back on with a flick of a switch, and after a few swipes on the little touchpad, the machine started shooting out coffee and foaming milk in a separate compartment.

“Thanks,” she said, looking at the coffee maker to avoid looking at him where he was still so close to her, pressed up against her side. “This should not be that complicated.”

Steve was drawn to her, wanted to stay at her side, but he knew he shouldn’t. It was why he kept away from her for the past few weeks, as much as he could. He knew it would be better for her in the end. For both of them.

He took a step back, leaning on the counter opposite. “I’ve had to ask J.A.R.V.I.S. for help with that more times than I care to admit.”

She laughed at his misfortune before nodding to the mug in his hand. “Can I pour you some coffee?” The drip coffee had already been made earlier. She poured a mug for herself and then held her hand out mindlessly for his mug. He handed it to her, a souvenir mug from the Brooklyn Bridge that he had since she met him. That seemed like so long ago now.

She made his coffee for him and they sipped together in a companionable silence while the cappuccinos finished. For a moment, he closed his eyes, and it was like back before everything went wrong, when they could just sit together in her apartment and drink coffee in silence. He thought he could smell her shampoo, the warmth of vanilla, tendrils of contentment swirling around his spine.

His fingers reached into his pocket and wound around the yarn of her string bracelet. He had kept it with him since he first found it weeks ago, at first for no discernable reason, just to tuck it in his palm and think of her whenever he felt like it. When Elena came back, he made the excuse that he was going to give it back to her—but he conveniently forgot every time he saw her.

Now it felt like a betrayal burning into his skin, and he yanked it out of his pocket with no warning. Elena startled at the sudden movement, muscles tensing painfully, body instinctively ready for a fight.

Then her eyes fell on the little blue and yellow string in his hand and a wave of emotion hit her like a rip tide, pulling her under into the current of memory.

She had bought the bracelet in high school from a farmer’s market, the first thing she bought in the U.S. Every time she wore it, good things happened. She wore it when she aced her finals in her junior year. She wore it when she was accepted into UCLA. She wore it to every interview that ended up working out.

The last time she remembered wearing it, she was at Steve’s apartment in D.C., and she thought she recalled taking it off before a shower and flinging it onto the bathroom counter. Then Steve had cornered her against the tiles under the spray of the showerhead and bent her over—

“That’s…” Her words died, and she bit her lip at the memories.

“I found it in my sock drawer,” he told her, holding it out. “Here… I thought you might want it back.”

She took it from him with timid hands, fingers wrapping around the yarn like his had done so often for the past months.

Before she could say anything, Tony was storming past and towards the conference room, calling out behind his shoulder for them to hurry up—as if he wasn’t the one who was late.

After an hour or so, everything was wrapping together nicely. The Avengers would be splitting into two teams. Some of the gang leaders would be gone for a shipment in Tijuana, which Tony and Clint would intercept. The remaining Avengers would storm the compound to arrest the remaining gang members.

“So you’ll want to block off the tunnels here,” Elena was pointing to the holographic maps and blueprints hanging above the table. “There are more than you think, and not all of them show on the map.” She marked a few hidden entrances on the screen. “Don’t let anyone get out through those hidden passages.”

“We’ll set up detonation devices around the tunnels and collapse them when we’re inside the compound,” Natasha said, “Once we’re in, we’ll need to work quickly to round everyone up. We’ll have backup coming with us to help.”

“You’re only going to need one or two people on the perimeter,” Elena said and motioned to the barren desert lands around the compound. “The Sonoran Desert makes for a nice barrier to escape. Anyone who lasts through the day with that heat won’t last the night. Too cold, plus rattlesnakes come out at night during the summer.”

Steve thought briefly of how she escaped, how her feet were torn to shreds by the cactus and thorn bushes. He had seen the cuts on her soles when Dr. Cho was changing the bandages once, the deep red and pink of her raw flesh.

He shook his head, clearing the image from mind, and stood. Going back into briefing mode, he motioned to the map. “Right. So we’ll have aerial support here…”

The rest of the mission briefing went by without a hitch, and soon the jets were ready to take them across the country.

After suiting up, Steve headed upstairs for takeoff. Right before he stepped out onto the roof, his name was called from the end of the hallway. He turned and saw Elena, hurrying towards him. She limped a little on her bad knee but she was miles above where she was when he first saw her, when she couldn’t even walk on her own.

“Steve!” she said again, breathless. “I was hoping to catch you before you went.”

“Did you need something?” he asked and quickly jogged to meet her down the hall so she wouldn’t have to walk as far. She leaned against the wall, reaching down to rub at her knee. “Are you okay?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on her elbow before he could stop himself. He was about to pull away but she leaned into his touch and he tightened his grip so she wouldn’t fall.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “Just the knee brace rubs at my skin.”

After another heaving sigh, she straightened up, and then he realized how close they were together. He hovered above her, their eyes locked, and he was lost in her again. Now he could _actually_ smell her shampoo, something tropical and fruity, muted by her vanilla perfume, the coffee on her breath. His eyes fell to her mouth when her tongue darted out to lick across her lips, leaving them shiny and parted, and he yearned to kiss her and take comfort in everything about her, but he knew he couldn’t.

Then she pressed her hand into his and he intertwined their fingers together unconsciously, just holding onto her. “Here,” she said, barely a whisper, still looking at his face, her expression full of emotion. “It’s for good luck. I thought you might need it.”

He finally broke his gaze away from her face and looked at their hands. When she pulled her own away, he saw she had handed him the string bracelet.

“Wait, but you—”

“I always wore it for luck. You can give it back when you’re done.” She smiled at him then, and he had to smile back. A sudden rush of forbidden affection for her swept through him, ripping his heart open, bringing all those feelings he had been trying to suppress for the past month to the surface.

The door to the hangar opened, letting in harsh morning light and the rumbling sounds of the aircrafts. “C’mon, Rogers!” came Natasha’s call over the din. “We need to get moving!”

“I’ll see you,” Elena said, giving him another smile before pulling back from him.

“Yeah,” he sighed, tone so low he wasn’t even sure if she heard. Then he turned away, even though every part of his body wanted to stay with her. He shoved the bracelet into the pocket of his suit and hurried towards Natasha, not sparing a glance back at Elena before the hangar door closed.

As he was buckling himself into the pilot’s seat, Natasha settled into the seat beside him.

“Remember when I told you that she needed someone in her court and that maybe that person should be you?” When Steve didn’t answer the question, Natasha continued, “Well, I gotta say, you’re fucking it up pretty spectacularly.”

His jaw clenched, and he had to pull his hands away from the control panel he was fiddling with so he didn’t break it in his anger. “You don’t get it, Nat.”

“I don’t get it?” she scoffed, “I saw some of the video footage from those security cameras in her apartment. You two were pretty cozy together—”

“You saw the video footage?” Steve seethed. It was one thing for Bucky as the Winter Soldier to see it, but for Natasha to invade his privacy like that, knowingly—

“Relax,” she drawled, too calm for Steve’s liking. “I just saw a little bit for data collection as we’re trying to wrap all this up with S.H.I.E.L.D. I didn’t see anything PG-13 or above. But you looked happy, Steve. Happier than I’ve ever seen you before.”

“Nat—”

“What’s so different now?” she asked quickly.

“I didn’t know Bucky was still alive back then!” he snapped at her. Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Natasha, with all of her intuition, seemed to process it and a look of understanding came over her face.

“Steve,” she sighed, “If you and Sam find Bucky—which is not a guarantee—what do you expect to happen? For everything to go back to like it was in the 40’s? It’s been decades—he might not—”

“I know that,” he growled. He did—he knew that Bucky might not be the same person anymore. That he might not want Steve. “I can’t help but hope.”

Natasha sighed. “It’s okay to hope. But why make yourself miserable in the meantime? Not only you, but Elena, too.”

“She’s not miserable—”

“She misses you.”

“And when we find Bucky, what exactly am I supposed to say to her? ‘It was nice having you keep my bed warm, but now Bucky’s here—yeah, the guy who tried to kill you twice’? You think I should do that to her? You think that would be better than where we’re at now?”

“You think she’s gonna run away now? Have you seen the way she looks at you?”

 “Once she finds out we’re searching for Bucky, she’ll be angry. Why would she choose to be with me considering all that?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you let her decide that, Rogers, instead of choosing for her?”

Steve didn’t say anything else, but her words stuck in his mind for the rest of the flight.

 

Perhaps Elena’s good luck charm bracelet was exactly what the team needed, because it was one of the most unremarkable missions of Steve’s career. Somehow, nothing went wrong, every single body was accounted for, and they got all the intel they needed. They were back in New York debriefing that very night.

Elena had asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to inform her when the team got back, and only after she confirmed that nobody was hurt did she sleep. Now that everything with this mission was tied up nicely with a neat little bow, she felt that she could breathe. It felt like this chapter of her life, one that had lasted for months, was finally able to conclude naturally.

But of course, her body and mind were both still ravaged by the past.

She awoke several times in the night to nightmares, and by dawn, she was up for good with a migraine. After calculating some excruciating mental math to determine when her last dose of her pain medication was, she took another migraine pill, hoping she hadn’t just condemned her liver to death with the action.

With all the damage to her body, to her organs, she had to be careful with everything she consumed. It was just another thing to get used to, just like how she got used to putting on her knee brace every morning and how she got used to seeing strange things moving in the shadows at night.

Normal, right?

She sat on the bathroom floor for thirty minutes waiting for the pill to kick in, leaning her head against the cool porcelain tub, taking deep breaths, in through her nose, out through pursed lips. Once the nausea abated with the worst of the migraine and she could finally open her eyes without needing to shield the light, she decided that she probably wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep.

Slipping on a pair of athletic shorts under the long cable knit sweater she wore, along with mismatched socks, she quietly went into the kitchen. It was barely light out, and even if it was morning, she wasn’t hungry, so she decided on a cup of tea and one of her favorite books instead of breakfast.

Leaning against the island as her tea brewed, she flipped to chapter one of _One Hundred Years of Solitude_ , and read while stretching out her knee gently, gradually easing into a deeper stretch. She had physical therapy later that day, and her body didn’t feel ready for it.

She was so lost in the first chapter that she didn’t hear the elevator coming up, or the man behind her entering the kitchen.

“Morning,” Steve greeted Elena cheerfully as she sipped her tea, and in her shock she jolted and spilled a little on the pages of her book.

“Damn,” she muttered, blotting at it with a dish rag.

“Sorry,” he gave a sheepish smile, hovering awkwardly in the kitchen entryway. He wore workout clothes and carried his sneakers in one hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” she shrugged, “This book’s seen a lot of love.”

He chuckled and remembered reading her copy of the book, the pages dogeared, tear stains at the sad parts, the occasional underlined quote. “I know, you’ve cried all over it,” he chided her.

She only scoffed at the accusation but did not deny it. He figured out early on that she cried at the weirdest things, and he found it endearing if not a little bit worrying at times. “You want some coffee? I’ve finally got this machine figured out.”

“That’d be great. About to go for my run.”

She eyed his workout clothes, the tiny shorts, the tight shirt straining over his chest. “Yeah, no kidding,” she muttered and looked away before he could see her expression, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart racing.

They were silent for a moment as she grinded coffee beans in Stark’s state-of-the-art coffee grinder, and then when she started shoveling the grounds into the coffee maker, he spoke up, falling into an easy conversation about the route he ran in the mornings.

She hummed in response and poured him his coffee, preparing it how he liked. As she moved around the kitchen, he noticed her limp getting imperceptibly worse, and by the time she handed him his mug, she was hobbling a little.

“You okay?” he asked, dropping his sneakers to take her elbow, trying to ensure she wouldn’t fall.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “Just my knee again. No biggie, I just need to sit down. Let me just get my—”

“I’ll get it for you,” he said, ushering her to the couch, where she sat down with a wince as her knee bent. “You sit.”

He was wary of her being on her feet, so he quickly grabbed the things she had left in the kitchen—her cup of tea and her book—and then sat next to her on the couch to finish his coffee.

“Thanks,” she sighed, “You don’t have to coddle me. I’m fine.”

Steve didn’t want to tell her what he was thinking—that a large part of what happened to her was his fault, so yes, he did have to coddle her, and no, he could tell she wasn’t fine. Instead, he asked, “The pain is still pretty bad?”

She shrugged, sipping her tea. “Some days are worse than others. I’m due for another steroid shot soon, so the tissue is probably just a little inflamed.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“You could not do that mother-hen thing you’re doing now,” she said with a teasing smile. Truthfully, she didn’t mind his help, and she sort of liked the rare attention from him, but she didn’t want him to feel obligated. She didn’t want to feel like a burden.

He only sent her a wry grin. “Tough luck. When have I ever backed down?”

She hid her goofy smile in her mug, although he saw the way her eyes shined, and it sent a jolt in his heart.

After all this time, how could he still react so viscerally to her? It had been months and somehow his mind couldn’t let go. He still wanted her, every part of her, and it pained him to know he couldn’t have that. Especially not once they found Bucky.

But that wasn’t going that well. Every lead they had was a dead end, and every time Sam came back empty-handed, another part of Steve deflated, the disappointment almost too much to bear. Every time, he found himself thinking about Elena more. How nice it might feel to be in her presence, just for the simple comfort of it.

How if he couldn’t have Bucky yet, then maybe Elena was just as good. The feeling of home in her was just as strong, and she wanted him, too. He could tell by the way she looked at him.

However, he knew she wouldn’t want him once he told her about their search for Bucky. That was why he hadn’t told her yet; she wouldn’t react well, and then he would lose another piece of him. Another piece of his home.

“I miss you,” she said suddenly, voice soft, eyes downcast when Steve looked at her.

“What?” He was a little shocked at the admission. “I’m here. I’ve been here.”

She smiled at him fondly. “Sure. But it’s not the same between us. I barely see you, really.”

“Elena—”

“I know that you’re busy,” she assured him. “I know you’ve got a lot going on, with Hydra and the Avengers.”

Perhaps it was now or never?

“It’s not just that…”

“What do you mean?”

Better to just say it up front. “Elena… We’re searching for Bucky. That’s kept me pretty busy, on top of everything else.”

He was avoiding her eyes, but he could feel her gaze on him and heard the confusion in her voice when she asked, “What? You’re searching for… The Winter Soldier?”

He wished she wouldn’t call him that. “Yeah. Bucky. He’s my best friend—I—I can’t just let him go. I can’t let him be out there in the world, knowing that all this terrible stuff has happened to him, that he’s alone—and… And…” He finally looked at her face, and his stomach dropped when he saw how her expression was flickering back and forth between anger and sadness and that vacant look she inherited from her horrible grandfather. His next words were almost a whisper, “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid of how you’d react.” She closed her eyes then, turned her face down at the dregs of her tea. After several terrifying minutes of silence, he begged her, “Please say something.”

“I don’t know what to say.” She smiled bitterly and swirled the tea leaves around at the bottom of the mug. “You said you were afraid of how I’d react. So I don’t want to react badly.” She huffed a laugh, humorless, then sobered. “And part of me—really, I get it. He means a lot to you. He’s an important part of your life…”

“But?” Steve asked when she paused.

Meeting his eyes, a sad smile on her face, that blank expression gone. “He almost killed me twice. So I’m a little afraid.”

“Hydra brainwashed him,” Steve said, “It really wasn’t his fault.”

She winced at the words. “I know he was brainwashed and coerced. I know that… He still scares me. And Steve, you had to have known I’d feel this way. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have waited so long to tell me, and you wouldn’t have been avoiding me because of this.”

How she could see right through him at times, he had no idea. She looked at him with a smile, though, sad but kind. “I’m sorry…” his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat, take several sips of barely warm coffee. Then he breathed in deeply to try and calm himself. It shocked him when she moved her hand on top of his, tangling their fingers together, rubbing his knuckles lightly with her thumb. It was the comfort he needed, though not what he deserved from her, he knew.

After several more minutes, she asked, “When you find him, what’s going to happen?”

He let out a shaky breath. “We’ll bring him back here, see what kind of help he needs. We’ll try to rehabilitate him, and then see where they want to go legally from there. But… everything is going to change, Elena. You should know that.”

She knew exactly what he meant, the look in his eyes giving everything away. Earnest and hopeful and sad and fearful all at once, his mission to bring his lost friend back was born not just out of loyalty or morality, but love. Love was his strongest driving force with Bucky, and Elena knew he would do anything for the other man.

And she knew that his loyalty to Bucky outweighed anything else, even their own bond.

Internally, she chastised herself. They had barley known each other for a year and had only been romantically involved for a few months of that time, not to mention how they had spent so many months apart. Elena’s relationship with Steve could never measure up to Bucky’s relationship with him, one that had spanned seven decades and into the next century, and she was foolish to even compare the two.

Still, what they had together was the most intense relationship of her life, despite how short it had been. She had never felt such a connection with anyone, never felt so comfortable.

All at once, she realized that she and Steve had never discussed their relationship or how they felt for each other. He probably didn’t feel nearly as strongly for her as she did for him—in fact, she could guarantee it. It made the most sense.

Steve watched as Elena processed the information over the next few minutes, and only said something else when that blank look started creeping back onto her face. He didn’t know what to say though, but fortunately, a whispered, “Elena,” was enough to break her out of her fog.

She turned to him, plastering a smile on her face, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Steve, I get it. Really. I do. I know he’s important to you. I know you love him…” She trailed off, wondering what to say next. He looked so vulnerable. Although he might not love her, he clearly valued her opinion on the entire matter—and even if he didn’t, she didn’t want to leave things on a bad note. She didn’t want this to turn into a fight, and she honestly couldn’t find it in herself to be angry anymore. Now she only felt resigned—Steve was going to find his childhood best friend, and they would be happy together, even if he forgot all about Elena.

All she could do was try to make a lasting impression, and perhaps the best way to do that was to offer him comfort, companionship. He needed that now, she could tell.

“Steve,” she tried smiling again and it looked less like a grimace this time. “I hope you find him… And if you need anything, let me know. I’m here for you.”

Steve was shocked at her words, and he knew then that he would never deserve her. She reached for him and he fell into her embrace, taking comfort in the scent of her shampoo, the soft feeling of her hair when he buried his face in it. After a few shuddering breaths, he managed to stamp down the tears coming up.

They relaxed into the couch together, holding each other for comfort, to cope with their loss and tragedy. It was more consolation than intimacy, and they both justified it in their minds as such.

And so, with both of them indulging in this simple pleasure, indulging in each other, even though it wasn’t the right time or place, even though the universe was plotting against them, they embraced each other on the sofa, reveling in the silence and the sound of each other’s breathing. They stayed like that until Steve felt her breathing even out, and she slowly drifted to sleep.

His run forgotten, he allowed himself to settle into a light slumber right beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think!


	19. Author's Note

I regret having to make this post but I've been thinking about this for a few months now. I know it's been a while since I've updated this story and it's not because I've lost passion for it. I haven't had much time to write because I've been so busy with my classes, but this story in particular is getting harder and harder to write because I don't get a lot of feedback.

This was the first story I ever posted for the MCU and it was before I really understood the fandom, particularly those who stan Steve or Bucky. I didn't realize how unpopular OFC stories are in this fandom compared to Reader stories. Coming from other fandoms, that definitely wasn't what I was used to. I never really understood the appeal of self-inserts. I'd much rather read a specific OFC with unique characterization rather than a vague Reader character. Even when I read or write Reader fics, I imagine an OFC in that place instead of me.

However, I've come to understand the appeal a little more. People can insert whoever they want in there, and they can get the representation they desire. Representation was the reason I made Elena a Latina OFC. I want more people to be able to see Latinx representation in fan fiction and in this fandom. That's been a big discussion on Tumblr lately about making Readers POC, how people want that kind of representation, and I want to be a part of that because I think it's really important. But people don't want representation from OFC fics--they want it from Reader fics. Because of this, the representation in this story is not getting read because most people don't read OFC fics, and I want more people to be able to see it and read it and enjoy it.

I still love this story. I love the plot, the characterization, and the relationship between Steve and Elena (and Bucky in the future). I still want this story to be told, but I also want more people to see it. I actually have a lot of regrets with this story--more than just not making Elena a Reader in the first place. I've wanted to revise the story probably since before I posted the last chapter (which was in September), and I've been dwelling on it for so long that I can't ignore it anymore.

This story will be going on hiatus and I will be revising it with two purposes in mind: changing some of the parts of the plot, and transforming it into a Reader story. I'm so sorry to any of you who really liked Elena or who only like to read OFC stories (if there are even any of you out there in this fandom).

I love Elena as a character, and she won't disappear. The female character in the revised story will still be her, and I'm going to incorporate all of her backstory and her characterization into the Reader character (although I hope to make her less of a Mary Sue lol). The only difference is that she will be called by a different name; in fact, I'll still be writing the story in third person (she/her) instead of second person (you), same as I do with my other Reader story. 

If any of you are still willing to read after this, I really appreciate it. If I've disappointed any of you by changing the story up, I'm so sorry and that wasn't my intention. Representation is just so important to me and I want people to see this story as that.

I don't know when the revisions will happen. I graduate soon and then I'll have more time for writing, but until then, just know that I really love and appreciate everyone who has read this story as it is now, everyone who has enjoyed Elena as an OFC, and everyone who has bookmarked, subscribed, commented, and given kudos. Thank you for reading.


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